The Musician of Death
by Rose the Wary Wolf
Summary: Harry Potter was fond of the red haired man who escaped death and debt collectors at every turn. But, when the man picks up a scarred and nameless child, Harry very nearly falls in love. The Master of Death decides it's far passed time to step into the Holy War between the Noah and the Vatican. Joining hands with Marian Cross to raise Allen Walker was just the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**I regret nothing.**

 **So, I was just minding my own business, when this idea punched me in the face. Of course, I immediately hunted down all of the D. Gray ManxHarry Potter crossovers I could find to sate my sudden need...but I found nothing like it. And I started writing. See, not my fault.**

 **Anywho, this is my obligatory D. Gray ManxHarry Potter crossover. (Someone had to see this coming, I mean Harry Potter is my most consistent fandom and my love of D. Gray Man is rather obvious.)**

 **I don't own D. Gray Man or Harry Potter. If I did, Harry would be badass and gay as all hell.**

* * *

Allen's experiences traveling with the circus, Mana, and Master Cross gave him the ignorant delusion that he, after thirteen years of living, has seen everything.

He's seen War and Pestilence. Sins and Virtues. Famine and Hatred. Yes, Allen has seen a lot in his meager years of living. But, he has definitely not seen it all.

As such, the young teenager was completely unprepared for what awaited him when he returned from trying to pay off his alcoholic playboy master's debts. Admittedly, the apprentice didn't think his master could have been prepared for what was awaiting him, either.

Allen, tired and sore, threw himself onto the couch of the room, ready to drift off into the numb abyss of sleep when he heard banging coming from the door.

"Cross!" he heard. "Cross, you arrogant bastard, open this door before I break it down!"

Allen whimpered, burying his face deep into the soft couch cushion. Who had his lying, two-faced master angered now?

"Cross!" the voice continued. "I'm not in the mood for your petty games right now!"

Allen resolved the stay quiet. Maybe, just maybe, if they realized that Master Cross wasn't in the apartment, they'll leave. Allen was far too tired to run away right now.

"That's it," they muttered. Allen could barely make out the sound of them backing away. When he didn't hear anything else, he let out a sigh of relief. They had left.

With the red flash of light, the door was ripped off its hinges and thrown into the room, flipping until it hit the opposite wall. Half of the door stuck out of the plaster like some sort of bizarre work of art.

Allen screamed, his high-pitched wail grabbing the attention of his attacker.

The person was hidden behind the dust kicked up by the sudden door-murder, but Allen could see as their blob like head turned towards him. Even through the dust and debris, the exorcist-in-training could see a piercing pair of green eyes analyzing him.

"Oh? Now this is something interesting," the voice, now obviously male, spoke up, taking a step forward. The dust parted around the man as he moved closer to the petrified teen.

Allen could only take a shuttering breath as the stranger approached. He really hoped the man wasn't here for a debt from Master Cross. A beat down, Allen could survive, he knew that much from the circus and the endless number of loan sharks that chased after Master Cross. _That_ , whatever that light was, Allen was unsure he could survive _that_ without calling upon his hideous Innocence.

"I don't know your name," the man stated with a frown once he was close enough to get a good look at the child. As the man glanced him over, the cautious teen did the same.

The man was dressed in black clothing that clung to his lean frame. Overtop, he wore a large cloak that covered his head, explaining the inhuman blob Allen had seen briefly. Even with the hood, however, Allen could see every feature of the man. It kind of defeated the purpose of the hood, in his opinion.

The man's green eyes burned as he stared Allen down and his deep red lips pulled into a sinister grin.

"Where's Cross, little one?" the man cooed. Allen flushed, his gaze flickering down as he fidgeted with the glove hiding his disfigurement. Green eyes followed his movement with interest.

"Master Cross is not here at the moment," Allen murmured. "He should be back tomorrow evening, though…"

The man hummed, canting his head at Allen's unsure tone. "Are you sure Cross hasn't just abandoned you here, little one? It's something that he would do."

Allen didn't answer.

The man's lips pulled into a wider smile, nearly splitting his face.

"How about…" the man trailed off, moving closer to the child. "I just kidnap you and see what he does, hm?"

Allen gulped, suppressing his whimper of fear with practiced ease.

The man's Cheshire grin did nothing to reassure him.

* * *

When Marian Cross returned to his room, he expected one thing. He expected his idiot apprentice to be ready with a dark scowl, a few assassination attempts, and a large stack of money.

When nothing of the sort awaited him, the red haired man was Not Happy.

After ransacking the apartment for his worthless brat, the runaway General finally found a clue to his whereabouts on the kitchen table, in the form of a letter placed in front of Cross's chair.

 _Marian,_ the letter read.

 _I decided that we needed some words about hiding souls of obnoxious, second-rate immortals from me. However, when I arrived at your room, I found something so much more interesting. Where did you pick up this adorable nameless child?_

 _Anyway, I've kidnapped him and you're not getting him back. Thought I should tell you, in case you blamed that bumbling fat oaf._

 _Tah-tah._

 _P.S. I took Tim too._

 _P.P.S I'll be waiting for you at the usual place._

 _P.P.P.S The little one says that he hopes you get a paper cut from this letter. So, I did one better and cursed it to blow up._

Cross was really Not Happy.

* * *

"I'm sorry, what's your name, sir?" Allen asked, kicking his legs idly as he devoured his vanilla ice cream.

The green-eyed man next to him hummed around his cone of treacle tart ice cream, his pink tongue poking out to briefly caress the soft treat. Allen looked away with a blush.

"My name, little one, Lord Harrick Potter-Peverell. Now, tell me," Harrick pulled away from his dessert and eyed the child. "What is it that you call yourself?"

"My name is Allen Walker," Allen introduced himself, bowing his head politely.

"Oh? How amusing," Harrick commented, taking a moment taste his sweet.

Allen only hesitated for a second before speaking once again. "You said that if I came with you, you'd pay off Master's debt to the Casinova Family…" he trailed off, waiting for the older man to speak.

"That I did," Harrick confirmed. "And I will. I'm surprised that Cross decided to meddle with the Mafia though. The man usually knows better than that."

"He said that he was bored," the apprentice to the devil muttered.

Harrick chuckled. "That sounds like Cross. A man after my own heart," he sighed, his unworldly eyes distant.

"…is that letter really going to blow up in Master Cross's face?" Allen asked.

Harrick cackled in response.

* * *

 **Yeah, that's about it.**

 **So, Harrick is my version of Harry's full name. I've seen Harrison and March Hare and Hadrian and Harold, so mine is Harrick. It means war ruler, which is pretty damn awesome.**

 **Now, this is the first notice...THE PAIRING WITH BE CROSSxHARRICK. Right now, it's just flirting and that's probably as far as I will go. BUT THIS IS SLASH. I'm not sure what Allen will be. He might be heterosexual, he might be homosexual, hell, I might make him asexual for shits and giggles.**

 **Also, currently, I have a strong opinion on names, especially with how names are so important in Harry Potter. I mean, if someone changed their name, would things like the Point Me spell and the Hogwarts registration identify them as their original name or their new name? So, to me, there's a certain 'magic' to the name given to someone by their parents/at their birth. (This idea is solidified by Voldemort's decision to make his evil name just a scrambled version of his original name. I mean, he knows a lot about magic by now.) But, since Allen was abandon and probably disowned because of his arm, he has no 'original name'. He has ways he identified himself, like Demon Child, Red, and Allen. But, for a being like Harry, this waif is nameless. (Kinda like my thing in Keep Walking, with how Neah refuses to call Allen anything other than 'nephew' because of how Allen doesn't truly have one name for himself.)**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this first, short, chapter! Till next time~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Edited:**

 **So, I was not expecting for this story to blow up so quickly. Now I'm stuck blushing like an idiot and scrambling to piece together some resemblance of a plot. All of you are just wonderful, my gosh.**

 **Imma be honest for a moment here. I was just sitting, reading over Djinn of Chaos when I realized that I really liked matching Harry up with powerful playboys that he could wrap around his fingers. And the first victim, other than Sinbad, that came to mind was Cross. And that is how this story was born.**

 **Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter or D. Gray Man.**

* * *

Harrick stood quietly, watching the nameless child he had found as he slept. Allen Walker, he called himself.

It was not a name that Harrick knew.

"I thought you were staying out of the Holy War," Cross stated, closing the hotel room door behind him quietly. Timcampy, taking in the scene, landed on the bed's headboard to roost over the child. Harrick didn't blink, merely laid his hand on the boy's white head.

"He has no name," Harrick informed the man, still not turning to face him.

"You mentioned that in the letter you left me," Cross confirmed. "What does it mean?"

"It means he cannot be called upon by the oaf should he die. But, he cannot find peace either. He will be a wraith when he passes, barred entrance to any afterlife that he believes in. Names are powerful magic. Even beasts who rely on instinct have a name that was gifted to them. Proof that they are alive," Harrick stated, carding his fingers through Allen's hair.

Cross frowned. "Mana gave the brat a name."

"He gave the child an identity, not a name," Harrick closed the subject, quickly switching to another matter that was on his mind. "I feel a number of contaminates on his soul. The Oaf, Innocence, even a Noah. What are you planning for this child, Marian?"

The runaway General sighed and glanced away from his companion. He flicked out a cigarette, lighting it with the snap of his fingers. "It's never good when you use my first name," he mused, breathing out a cloud of smoke.

"Marian," Harrick repeated. "What are you planning for this child?"

"Harrick, I know you are not a fan of this War…" Cross trailed off, catching sight of the furious look on the immortal being's face.

"Not a fan? That's a funny way of putting it," Harrick snarled. "If it weren't for the laws that bind me from participating, that oaf would have his mouthy umbrella shoved so far up his ass, the pumpkin would do the sweet talking for him. And don't get me started on those so called 'Holy Warriors'. It's a wonder I can stand you, Marian."

"If you don't want to be involved, then there is no point in telling you what will happen to him," Cross stated.

Harrick snapped his head around, his unearthly green eyes glowing in warning. "Do you have any idea what I go through because of this nonsense war?" he whispered harshly, delicately pulling his hand from Allen's hair to fist it at his side.

Cross was silent.

"I feel it every time either side messes with the balance I strive to protect. That Oaf resurrects a soul? It's like I'm stabbed in the knee. An exorcist returns a soul to my domain? I'm drowning in suffering and sorrow. The Vatican discovers a new way to create their precious warriors? I feel as if they're ripping off a finger. And I'm burning every time a Noah awakens," Harrick turned around, stepping towards the red haired playboy. "Can you image it?" he wondered, reaching out to rest his hands on the taller man's shoulders. Cross merely watched Harrick's actions. "Walking down the street with phantom pain drilling through your body? Smiling when you're crying out on the inside? For thousands of years, being slowly tortured but not allowed to do anything to stop it? Can you image how I feel, Marian?"

Cross blew a cloud of smoke, lifting one hand to tug the smaller man against his chest. Silently, he wrapped his arm around the man, allowing him the simple comfort of a hug.

Harrick relaxed immediately, completely loose in his grip.

"The brat needs someone to look after him," Cross stated, reaching up to pet Harrick's head. The smaller man peeked up at the General.

"I can keep him?" a small smile tugged at the immortal's lips.

Cross smirked. He grabbed Harrick's chin with his free hand and tilted his head so they were face to face. They were quiet, absorbed in each other for a moment.

"You know that I prefer your other form better," Cross commented, letting Harrick's face go. The immortal snickered, pulling himself free from Cross's hold. He twirled back to Allen's side, and with each spin his form became rounder. When he stopped, his hood was down and his, now back length, black hair was free.

The immortal being smiled, her green eyes snaking over to latch onto Cross's red pair.

"After all," Cross continued. "I only allow beautiful things by my side."

Harrick, female in form, laughed. "What a pervert I have allied myself with," she mused, a dainty hand covering her smile.

"Why you don't stay in that form all the time is beyond me, Harrick," Cross wondered, his eyes roving the woman beside him.

"While Death is everything and nothing," Harrick lectured. "I was once human. I have preferences for my appearance. A little keepsake from home. I was born a man, and so I prefer to walk amongst humans as a man." The feminine form bled away, Harrick's hair receding to neck length and angles appearing where there were once curves. "Besides, I can't let you always get what you want," Harrick grinned. "Where's the fun in that?"

Cross's responding smirk was all the answer the man known as Death needed.

* * *

Allen woke as sunlight streamed through a window, beaming into his unprotected eyes. He glanced around unsurely, trying to remember last night. The room was unfamiliar, but Allen wasn't someone that went to sleep around threats. The streets and circus taught him that much.

With unsteady legs, Allen eased himself off of the couch and shuffled his way towards the faint sound of muttering.

"Where am I?" Allen muttered as he shuffled out of the living room and into the spacious kitchen. With beery eyes, he glanced around the room. Lord Harrick Potter-Peverell was smiling at him from the stove, where he was currently cooking up a meal fit for an army. And seated at the table, already eating some of the delicious smelling food, was Master Cross, Timcampy resting on the top of his hat.

Allen blinked, pausing to think.

"Master Cross!" he exclaimed.

The General huffed, placing his utensils down with a click to glare banefully at his apprentice. "What, brat?"

"What are you doing here?" When the man's only response was a hard glare, Allen turned to his host. "What's Master Cross doing here, Lord Harrick?" Harrick frowned lightly.

"Heh," Cross chuckled. "You're going to have to break him of that habit," he informed Harrick with a roguish grin. Harrick flicked his eyes to the man, but otherwise ignored him, choosing to smile at the exorcist-in-training.

"Marian and I are old friends; of course he would know where to find me. He's here because the two of us needed to have a few words. And, we've come to a decision," Harrick explained to the young teenager.

"More like you twisted my arm," Cross muttered, stuffing his face with scrambled eggs.

"A decision?" Allen asked, not having heard his Master's words. However, Harrick did and vowed to really twist the man's arm the second Allen wasn't watching. Domestic violence was not a good example for a growing teenager, after all.

"Marian said that I can keep you!" Harrick clapped happily, smiling at the teen. At the child's bewildered face, Harrick quickly amended himself. "I mean, I'll be traveling with you and Marian from now on, teaching you whatever the pervert forgets. Like reading, writing, mathematics, etiquette, music, art…" Harrick continued to list of different subjects with a happy grin. He looked off into the distance as he prattled on, going so far as pace as he spoke.

Allen turned horrified eyes towards his Master, who merely shrugged in response.

"…how to hide a dead body, lying, gardening, cooking, sorcery, and weapons training. Can't forget weapons training," Harrick finished, stopping and spinning around to face his audience of two. "It'll be so much fun!"

"What the hell am I going to teach the brat?" Cross wondered, incredulous.

Harrick blinked, perplexed. "You'll teach him how to active that nasty curse and his possessive Innocence, of course," he raised an eyebrow at the man. "That's all your good for, after all."

"Ouch," Cross muttered, using a glass of wine to muffle his wince. His ever-loyal golem shook inn amusement, his wide grin displaying his knife-sharp teeth.

"I don't want to waste your time, Lord Harrick," Allen stated. He looked around the room nervously when the temperature promptly dropped.

"First things first," Harrick stated. "My name is Harrick. You may call me Harrick, Harry, Hare, Death, Father, Mother. Basically, anything other than 'Lord'," his face twisted in distaste. He quickly regained his composure and continued. "Secondly, I haven't gotten to take care of someone in a long time. Not since this world's predecessor. Trust me when I say, teaching you will be my pleasure."

"Death…?" Allen breathed, his adorable grey eyes wide.

Harrick tsked. "Right, we haven't been formally introduced yet," he told himself. "My name is Lord Harrick Potter-Perevell as you already know. I am also known across the 'verse as Death, the End of Ends. It is nice meet you, Allen Walker, nameless child of a biased God."

Cross chuckled around his cigarette when Allen choked.

"This is going to be a lot of fun, I can already tell," Harrick mused with a soft smile.

* * *

 **Okay, Harry being able to turn into a woman is actually a plot point and not me just messing around, I promise you. Just think of it like Lady Loki. To me, personified Death has no gender or 'true form'. It appears however the person dying perceives it. As such, Harry can look however he wants, as he is the embodiment of Death. Harry uses this to his advantage, generally appearing how he looked when he was still a mortal human. But, he can appear however he wants, whenever he wants. This makes blending in really easy for him, so even if someone knew Harry/Death previously, like Kanda who has died or the Akuma, then there is no guarantee that they know what he looks like normally.**

 **As such, Harry has no issues with pronouns. He will prefer he, his, him, etc. due to the fact he usually is a male and spent his first life as a man, but as shown when he says that Allen can call him Father or Mother, he doesn't give a damn. He's too old to care about that non-sense. (I have looked up some gender neutral parent terms and the only ones I really like are Zaza, Cennend/Cenn, Zither, and 'Ther. Would you guys prefer if I just used Mother (which is the name of a D. Gray Man character and one of the reasons I don't wanna use it) or Father (which I'd prefer to keep as Allen's super-secret term for Mana)? Or is there a term you guys like?**

 **(And yes, I realize that this is a thin line that I am treading, please be patient with me...)**

 **Harry's kinda insane, just a heads up. The constant torture is one reason, along with being who-the-hell-knows years old and watching everyone he cares about die and turn to dust. Yeah, Harry's not very mentally stable. But, he has Allen and Cross to help~**

 **I don't care what D. Gray Man wiki or FanFiction says. Cross's full name is Marian Cross and no one can tell me differently. (None of this Cross Marian nonsense.)**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest (1) - Haha, I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter, reader-san!**

 **Laura - I'm glad that you enjoyed the first chapter!**

 **Guest (2) - Here ya go~**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Edited:**

 **This chapter's kinda just a transition to the more interesting parts. Sorta. It's just Harry exerting how much control he has over his two favorite boys.**

 **Anyway, I don't own D. Gray-man or Harry Potter**

* * *

"Where do you think you're going?" Harrick asked, tapping his foot as he impatiently waited for a response. Allen glanced around the room, startled, looking for the victim of the man's ire. When the immortal's unearthly eyes narrowed, Allen blinked, his mouth slipping open.

"I have work, Lord Harrick," the exorcist-in-training mumbled, staring down at his sturdy boots. Master Cross had bought them for the former clown after they left Mother's house. The ratty patchwork pair he had before had been falling apart at the seams.

They were the first gift he ever got from Master Cross, his most precious possession after the three years he's travelled with the man.

"You have your first lessons today," Harrick stated. Allen chanced a look across the room at Master Cross, who was lounging on the couch with a glass of red wine and a cigarette tightly clenched between his lips. The two exchanged a glance over the man's glasses. The master merely shrugged at his apprentice.

Allen turned back to Lord Harrick - _Death, this smiling man who cooked breakfast for him and his demonic master was Death._ "The men at the docks are expecting me, Lord Harrick," Allen attempted.

Harrick grinned softly, brushing a hand down the front of his cloak. "Marian?" he purred, turning to the General. "Allen is having lessons with me today. Why don't you take his place at the docks?"

The red head slowly settled his wine on a table and readied himself to glare at the immortal being.

He was not prepared to face the man's small grin and glowing green eyes. Harrick's grin widened, a sickly expression Cross recognized from the Noah the man detested so much.

"You have no isssuess with that, right, Marian?" Harrick asked sweetly, a dangerous hiss of an ancient language slithering off his tongue.

Cross calmly put out his cigarette and stood at his full six feet height, towering over his student and his companion. With a defeat sigh at the smaller man's challenging look, he sulked out the door, stripping off his coat.

There was no need to dirty his precious outfit for his partner's random whims.

Allen gaped as his master, his Satan-in-hiding, never-follow-the-rules, I-do-what-I-want Master obeyed _Death._

On second thought, Allen was also bowing to Death's whims.

Harrick turned his unearthly eyes towards his new student, the demented grin still covering the majority of his face. "Now that the bastard is gone, we can start with the training!" he hummed, pulling a large book from the empty space next to him.

Allen coughed, trying desperately not to be unnerved by the man's insane expression. "What will I be learning today, Lord Harrick?"

With his free hand, Harrick reached back and pulled his hood over his head, casting a shadow on his grin. "My favorite lesson; sorcery."

Allen swore the shadows around the apartment got darker at the man's proclamation.

* * *

Cross didn't know what he was doing here.

This was not part of the plan.

He was supposed to have his idiot apprentice do manual work, strengthening his meager muscles and getting him used to using his crippled Innocence-imbedded arm. Meanwhile, he would have the time of his damn life, outrunning all of his problems, leading everyone on a merry goose chase.

Instead, his biggest mistake reappeared, changing the entire playing field.

Cross wasn't even sure if Neah's plan would come to fruition with Harrick now interfering.

(Not that he wasn't happy to finally have a reason for Death to throw in his dice, after a decade of trying to convince the immortal. But, Harrick was someone who loved completely, doing all he can to protect his chosen few from the perils for the world. There was a reason _no one_ ever found Cross. And it wasn't just because he was the best goddamn General in the entire Black Order.)

Already Cross was wrapped around the genderfluid immortal's dainty little fingers, doing his bidding after a smile and a few words.

Admittedly, that was the most terrifying smile and couple of sentences the redhead had ever experienced. He shuttered just thinking about it.

Damn that man.

Cross swiped sweat from his forehead, glaring down at the net of fish he had been dragging onto the boat.

Maybe he was getting out of shape, leaving everything to his moronic student.

* * *

" _Kill them all_ ," Harrick hissed patiently, his tongue twisting melodically as Allen's face scrunched up in confusion.

"Lights off meet me softly," Allen tried to repeat.

Harrick blinked. Allen blushed. Timcampy grinned.

The immortal burst out into outrageous laughter, his glee shaking his lean frame. He scrambled out a hand, desperately grabbing for something to steady himself. To hysterical to help himself, Harrick fell to the floor in a fit of giggles.

Allen watched his teacher with a pout.

After teaching the boy how to summon a small fire on his fingers and how to locate a personal friend using a leaf, Harrick had the brilliant idea of teaching his protégé his secret hissing language. Or, as Allen now knew it to be, parseltongue.

"I'm sorry," Harrick choked out. "I'm sorry, is that how it sounded like to you?"

"Yes," Allen muttered. "Just more hissy and growly."

"'Hissy and growly'," the being also known as Death giggled. "'Hissy and growly' he says."

"Maybe you can teach me a simpler phrase," Allen implored, trying to ignore the immortal dying on the ground.

Harrick took a deep breathe to center himself. " _Help me."_

He barely restrained a coo when Allen's nose crunched up in concentration. "Nalasti stcha."

"That was a lot closer," Harrick stated, leveling himself up from the ground. He watched with a smile as Allen beamed with pride. "How about… _dunderhead._ "

"Fish head nade yis."

"Alright, alright. This is the easiest word I know; _oaf_."

"Shy."

"Again. _Oaf."_

"Shie."

" _Oaf."_

"Chai."

"What, in the name of Maria's corpse, are you doing?" Allen jumped in surprise, spinning around in his seat to see Master Cross leaning against the kitchen's threshold, glaring down at the duo. His clothes was creased and stained, the man himself covered in sweat.

"I was teaching Allen parseltongue. Sadly, his tongue wasn't made for the language the same way mine was," Harrick grinned. "Did you have fun at the docks?"

"If by fun, do you mean did I enjoy lugging up pound after pound of smelly fish and diving in to save idiots that fell overboard from the their own stupidity? Then yes, yes I did have fun at the docks. Now, where the hell did you put Judgment."

"Your toys are in your room. Now, let's try this again. _Oaf."_

" _Bastard."_

Harrick's face lit up with glee. "Oh, I am going to love you!"

* * *

"We're leaving in the morning," Cross stated lounging on his favorite couch with a glass of wine. He stared into his drink, swirling the liquid, the reflection of the moon wavering.

"Oh? And where, exactly, are we going?" Harrick wondered, resting her head on Cross's knee from her position on the floor.

"France is nice this time of year. And the women are always welcoming," the runaway General muttered, resting his glass on the side table with a sigh. Instead, he ran his fingers through his, currently feminine, companion's hair.

"My, is Marian feeling rejected? I promise I'm not replacing you with Allen," she smirked, pressing her face into his pants to muffle her giggles.

"Just make sure the brat knows French. And stop teaching him your useless snake language. As if serpents can help him against the Earl or his Akuma," Cross huffed, looking away from his former teacher as she glanced up at him teasingly.

"You always seem to forget, Marian, that they are not the only threats in this world. Humans are just as horrifying as monsters. But, I'll bow to your opinion for now. No more parseltongue lessons. There is so much I need to still teach him anyway," Harrick promised, pulling away from the older looking man. She eased herself up, towering over the seated man.

"Most of your lessons will be useless. Unlike me, the brat has no need to know how to hide a body," Cross told her, lazily watching her movements.

"Just like with you, Marian, I will teach him everything he might need to survive. If he dies because I neglected to teach him an important subject, I cannot promise I won't raze this world. After all, you remember what I did when you foolishly lost your eye, don't you?" Harrick grinned sharply. Cross's eyes flickered towards the window, away from the immortal that scared him far more than he liked to admit.

He was silent. His remaining red eye stared into the darkness of the room he was occupying with the immortal.

" _Heaven or Hell, Marian, I will protect what is mine. I swore that millennia ago, on the graves of my parents, my best friends, my_ _son_."

"Goodnight, Harrick," Cross stated, ignoring the woman's angry hisses. He recognized the sounds, the words _protect_ and _mine_. Unlike with Allen, Harrick never taught Cross to speak the forbidden language. But, he knew it well enough from exposure to determine what the immortal was saying.

"Goodnight, Marian. Don't let the nightmares bite," Harrick sang softly, pausing to scoop up Timcampy, who lounged at his side like a loyal mutt.

Cross closed his eyes as she sashayed away.

He made no promises.

* * *

 **Okay, timeline. For this story, Allen was ten when Mana died and he's been training with Cross for a three years already. That gives Harrick two more years to bond with our favorite protagonist.**

 **So, I found an unofficial parselmouth translator and I decided, hey! Let's have Harrick train Allen and Allen messing up constantly. Since Allen isn't a natural parselmouth, this is what Harrick's hissing sounds like to him. I'm not even kidding, that's what it sounded like when I ignored the hissing and growling.**

 **Okay, so most people want a feminine term for Harrick. I can get behind that. It'll be a few more chapters till Allen calls Harrick anything more familiar than Lord or Lady, so there's still time if anyone has another opinion on the subject. I'm partial to Maman, Mum, and Mater for feminine terms.**

 **Yes, there is a reason Cross is so good at hiding and why Harrick took three years to find him to talk about Neah and the Noah. It'll either be mentioned in the next chapter or the one after it. I'm sure some of you can guess though~**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest (1) - That'll definitely happen eventually. Sadly, there needs to be development before I can jump into the interesting parts of the story.**

 **Guest (2) - Haha, thank you very much! Oh, that sounds wonderful~ I can't wait to write it!**

 **Dragonlily22 - Here ya go!**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this quick little chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

**HEAVILY EDITED:**

 **This chapter is so much better than the last one, it just makes me so happy.**

 **Anyway, I don't own D. Gray Man or Harry Potter.**

* * *

"Is this...really necessary, Lord Harrick?" Allen whispered, his head turned away in disgust. He wanted to pull away, to hide. But, his mentor was too strong. The white-haired teen tested the man's restraints for the nth time.

"Yes," Harrick confirmed. "You need to take care of your Innocence if you want it to perform properly. It's absolutely filthy!" The immortal presented his oiled hands to the boy, showing off all the dark flakes of dead skin and dirt. He clapped his hands once, banishing the mess away before slicking up again.

"I'm not comfortable with this, Lord Harrick," Allen tried again, shamefully flinching every time the immortal's nails scraped along his disgusting arm. Harrick sighed, but shifted backwards, his hands leaving his student's arm. The boy relaxed noticeably and Harrick bit back his annoyed huff.

"I'm sorry, Allen," his lips formed over the name awkwardly, uncomfortable. "But you can't keep using your Innocence if you don't care for it properly. Marian has to clean Judgement and Maria needs extra special care. You can't expect your Innocence to function properly if it's ignored unless in a fight."

"Innocence is a weapon," Allen stated, his human hand covering the shard of Innocence that twinkled in the weak light. "What should it matter?"

"You are a weapon," Harrick corrected, reaching out to cup Allen's hands. "At least, according to that Order of Marian's. What should it matter if you are cared for as long as you can perform your duty as an Exorcist? What should it matter if you're in pain or sick if akuma still infest the world?"

Allen's shoulders edged up to his ears as his legs strained against the ropes, wanting to curl up and block it all out, banish away the memory of screaming souls as he lost control of his arm and _Mana, oh Mana._

"Just like the Order needs to take care of their weapons, you need to take care of yours," Harrick told him.

"Are you just taking care of your weapon, Lord Harrick?" Allen wondered, finally turning to the older man. His eyes were flat, black ice to the storm Harrick once saw.

The immortal smiled. "I'm taking care of a child, one who will leave me behind for a war he does not deserve to be a part of."

The door slammed open behind them, shattering the melancholy of the still room.

"I don't want to know," Cross stated as he returned the hotel room, a glare on his face and his long red hair in knots. His white button-up was drenched in sweat and mud caked his boots, his precious coat hanging over his arm. Timcampy flew in behind him, screeching to a halt midflight. The General was not prepared for what he saw, not after the day he just had.

His apprentice was tied to a chair, his Innocence imbued arm – the arm he hated and loved and hid every chance he could find – was on full display, strapped down to the chair's arm. The immortal embodiment of Death he called his partner-in-crime had pulled up another chair and was lounging beside the boy, right next to the red, scaled arm.

"You sure?" Harrick hummed, shifting gears quickly as he reaching out to lay his hands on the arm. Their Idiot Apprentice squeaked in surprise, squirming in his seat.

"Keep your weird fantasies far away from me," the General barked, carefully placing his coat over the side of his chair. He side-glanced at his student. The boy was back to staring at the floor as if it was the most important thing in the world. "What are you doing to him?"

"Preening," Harrick answered, rubbing in the oil as he massaged the tense muscles in his student's forearm.

"What the hell do you know about preening, snake?" the taller man scoffed, rolling his eyes. Timcampy fluttered over, curious. Cross followed, flopping down in _his_ chair, thankfully free from the nonsense of Harrick's inane ideas. "Call it grooming, sounds less creepy."

The Master of Death stuck out his tongue. "Innocence has feathers, making it preening!"

Allen shifted uncertainly, his movement gathering his master's attention.

"It doesn't look like the brat appreciates your efforts, Harrick," Cross noted. "You can always tell him to fuck off, Idiot Apprentice."

"He keeps calling me 'Lord Harrick,'" the smaller man sniffed. "I doubt he'll ever say something like that to me. It's maddening."

Cross blinked. "You fooled me. I have been working under the impression you were mad already."

"Who even knows these days? Be a dear and pass me a rag. If I Vanish the oil, it won't soak," Harrick waved a foot towards the table beside Cross' chair.

The Exorcist sighed at the small mountain of sharp objects that met his stare.

Only two weeks in the insane immortal's presence and he was getting the child to carry around all sorts of weapons, hidden along the lines of his body.

Cross never wanted to admit that Harrick had actually done something right for once. At least, not until Allen attacked a man assaulting his teacher during their first few days in France.

He didn't want to know where Harrick found the six inch long finger blades to gift the mini-clown as a reward, but as long as Allen was learning to survive, the man had no real objections. (Though, he did make sure to leave Timcampy and his razor teeth and heavy metal body with the duo more often after the first incident.)

He wasn't sure what to think about the new addition to the weapons pile, however.

"Is that a whip?"

Harrick looked over, his eyes falling immediately on the weapon in question. "It is a whip. I never realized that you were so observational, Marian. Now pass me the damn rag, please. I know shiny things are distracting, but this is a bit sad."

"We've been in France for a while, Master Cross," Allen murmured, cutting in before the immortal and General could start another argument.

"No longer than we were in India, " Cross replied, spinning around to see his student still tied up in the chair, his now free legs curled up to his chest. "Did you untie him?" Cross turned to the smirking Timcampy.

The golem weaved a 'no' in the air. He already knew that Harrick's growing maniacal grin meant the man hadn't done it either.

"How long have you been able to move, Stupid Student?" Cross ran his hand through his hair, giving a heavy sigh of exasperation.

The teenager blinked. "Not too long, Master. Thank you for distracting Lord Harrick," he muttered.

Harrick cackled. "This is what I get for trying to mess with a trickster," he cooed, reaching down to pick at the discarded rope on the floor. He eyed the end of the line with a grin. Somehow, the teen had untied the knot holding him in place without the immortal noticing.

Cross was begrudgingly impressed.

"Since we're all here," Harrick stated, his voice lightening and his hair lengthening, transforming into his second favorite form. "Why don't we go for a nice family walk?"

"Family?" Cross scoffed. They were many things, but _family_ was not one of the words that came to mind when he thought of his partner and student. Necessary evils, more like.

"Do families want to kill each other?" Allen asked, ignoring his master for his more favorable teacher.

Harrick paused, staring at the ceiling as she contemplated the question. "Well, my family did. And so did my best friend's family. And my godfather's family. So, yes, families want to kill each other and that makes us the perfect family! Right, Marian?" the immortal smiled gleefully.

Cross ran a hand down his face with a deep sigh.

He had wondered about his partner's family often. The immortal only dropped snippets of information on a good day. A 'Teddy loved wolves' here, and a 'Your hair is redder than Ron's' there.

The General was not surprised to learn that his companion's family was…unconventional.

"Yes," he sighed. "Yes, we make the perfect family."

He really wanted an akuma to appear as his companions beamed up at him.

* * *

"Since we're a family," Harrick lectured Allen from Cross's side. "You'll need to stop calling me 'Lord'."

Cross stared longingly at the entrance to the red light district as the 'family' passed by.

"But, Lord Harrick," Allen complained, his gray eyes focused solely on his teacher's face, instinctually dancing around any obstacles.

Harrick slipped her arm under Cross's, tucking herself against his side. Cross's gaze shifted to the sky as he pleaded for something to save him.

He appreciated beauty and had no issues with a gorgeous woman pressing up against him. But this was Harrick, who spend the majority of her time as a man, who could kill him with a thought, who took delight in tormenting him as much as possible. Not to mention that Marian Cross didn't do 'family'. It was his first rule, right above 'Don't befriend strange beings in cloaks'.

"Marian, Allen won't stop calling me 'Lord'," the immortal whined.

Before Cross could respond, Allen faltered, stopping the General from, no doubt, sticking his foot in his mouth.

"Allen?" Harrick asked, crouching down beside the boy, her cloak pooling around her. Allen flinched and the immortal's hand, which had been reaching for the boy's shoulder, froze. "Allen, what's wrong?"

"Akuma…" he muttered. Cross tensed, his hand slipping into his coat, caressing his Innocence.

"How bothersome," Harrick muttered. Her hand continued forward, brushing back Allen's snow white hair. She stared intently at his inflamed scar and the gears forming over his fearful eye. "Peculiar."

"Lord Harrick?" Allen asked softly. The immortal smiled softly at the teen and gracefully stood up.

"Is it alright if you return Allen to the hotel while I deal with the interloper?" Harrick wondered, her unearthly gaze connecting with Cross's burning pair.

"It's been a while since I've seen you in action," Cross argued lightly. A very long time. Knowing what he did, Cross would never suggest the immortal being fight, but if she was offering, he wanted front row seats to the rare spectacle. "Especially in that form."

Harrick looked around quickly. The road was still busy, people automatically making space for the 'family'. "Very well then."

The immortal twirled, entering a side alley with the grace of a predator. Cross and Allen exchanged a look and followed after her.

"Akuma, where are you?" Harrick sang. "I thought you wanted to come out and play?"

"To the left," Allen pointed out, following the decomposing soul with his cursed eye.

Harrick chuckled. "I know that. I'm just having some fun with them. I like to have some fun with my prey."

Allen frowned, a glint of anger appearing for the first time since he met the immortal. "They're not animals."

"I never said they were." The words were followed by a crashing wall as a bulb like machine burst through a building.

Allen took a moment to stare, frozen at the sight of the monster that was binding a soul so unnaturally to the earth. The gray skin of the machine pulled grotesquely over the round body, festering sores blooming into canons. A woman's face grinned sadistically down at the trio, her dulled blue eyes focused on the immortal standing before her.

Harrick frowned.

"You've been away from my arms for almost a year now, Luther. I would say it's pathetic that you were still only a level one if I actually cared," she drawled, reaching up to undo the clasp of her ever-present cloak.

Allen had never seen the immortal, male or female in form, without her black cloak. She always wore it, like a barrier from the rest of the world.

Cross sighed as the immortal threw the garment at his face, blocking his view. With a roll of his eyes, the General tugged of the cloak and carefully folded it. He knew how precious it was to his companion.

The woman stood confidently, her back to the master and apprentice. Allen blinked in surprise while Cross smirked at her black pants and black blouse. Her abyss black hair tumbled down to her hips, tangled in a strangely fashionable disarray. Harrick reached into her hair, pulling out a thin stick as she ran her fingers through her long locks.

"Now, I'm not used to fighting in this form," Harrick smirked challengingly. "So I apologize if this fight takes too long."

She flicked her wrist, the stick warping, lengthening and thickening until it towered over the diminutive woman. The immortal casually rested the transformed scythe against her shoulder, eyeing the Akuma with her unearthly green eyes.

"May death do you part, Luther and Nora Welles."

* * *

Allen couldn't stop staring at his teacher in awe as they calmly strolled back to the hotel room.

"You can see them too?" he asked in wonder. Cross gave him an irritated look at his loud voice but Harrick smirked.

"What kind of Grim Reaper would I be if I couldn't even see something as simple as a captive soul?" she scoffed.

"I've never met anyone that can see them too…" Allen trailed off, his gloved hand reaching up to cup around his pentagram. Harrick watched his action with a narrowed stare.

"That is one of the many reasons Marian should have contacted me sooner," Harrick huffed, turning her glare to the redhead. "You know I can't find you unless you tell me where you are."

"I didn't want to drag you into a war you had no interest in," Cross smirked, resting his hands on his companion's hip.

"Don't think your sweet words will work on me, player," she sneered, stepping out of his hold.

Allen stood back and watched the adults' odd dance. Master Cross would murmur sweet nothings to the immortal, who would respond with empty angry words. He's seen this routine over and over again throughout the last three years, but they made the usually disgusting display look graceful.

But, there was something wrong. Master Cross's touches were careful, as if he was afraid the immortal would break under his touch. Harrick's breathing was heavy, as if she was struggling to retain air. Some of her responses were rough, choked out between gritted teeth.

Allen didn't remember her getting a single injury during the fight. She had been like the wind, fierce and strong, a constant barrage of attacks. Or was that more like the water?

All that mattered was that his teacher was not a well as she wanted him to think. And Master Cross knew about it.

Allen's eyes narrowed.

* * *

"The brat is catching on," Cross muttered as his fingers brushed against Harrick's arm, nudging her towards the hotel.

"He is training under the world's two biggest badasses. I would be ashamed if he wasn't catching on," Harrick hissed, stumbling with her words. "Dammit, this is why I wanted you to go back to the room."

"And leave you to drag yourself back? You can barely walk as it is," Cross stated, pulling her against his side as she leaned warningly towards the ground. "Does this happen every time?"

"Only when I'm so close to an akuma when they're released. If I'm further away, the pain is dulled," Harrick allowed. Cross sighed but carefully draped her cloak over her shivering form, stopping to clasp it closed when her fingers fumbled with the latch.

"If we could tuck you away in Neah's Ark, would you still feel it?" he wondered.

Harrick gave a weak snarl. "No, I wouldn't. The Ark is a pocket dimension, almost entirely protected from the outside world. But, try it, and I'll make you a woman the _easy_ way."

"Which is the easy way?" the General mused. Harrick didn't answer, her sharp glare being more than enough of a response. Cross chuckled.

"No more lessons for today, Allen," Harrick informed the teen.

"It's barely passed noon," he reasoned with a frown. Harrick almost wished the child would whine. His maturity worried her. What if he didn't make any friends when he joined the despicable Black Order? She didn't want him to be alone.

"Harrick needs to rest," Cross stated. "If you want something to do, you can go earn your keep, Idiot Apprentice."

Allen knew Harrick was unwell when she didn't complain about Cross's treatment towards her student.

"I'll be at the pub," he muttered, fleeing from the scene.

Harrick sighed, slouching against the General as the teenager left her sight.

"Let's get you to bed," Cross muttered, ignoring the indignant stares of the French around him.

His partner in crime needed his assistance. Who the hell cared about social expectations at a time like this anyway?

* * *

 **Yeah, evidence that Harrick really can't do shit against Akuma. I see it like this, ripping a soul away from Death to form an akuma might be like a horcrux. Destroying a horcrux hurts like a bitch and returns the emotions trapped inside to the host. Harrick, as Death/the Master of Death, is the host of all souls that die. He is the embodiment of the afterlife. Heaven and Hell, that is he. So, making an akuma hurts a lot, especially if he's near it. Destroying an akuma hurts a lot, especially if he's near it. Everything about this war is painful for him. And it sucks, cause he can't do jack shit.**

 **Next chapter, Harrick gives Allen an important gift~**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **mwah hah hah - I haven't really thought of a name for Harrick's female form. I mean, it's still Harrick, just different parts. Though, I might need another name as an alias, so Harveste does work! Haha, I do know that series! I'm really sad that it hasn't been updated in so long, it was just wonderful~**

 **I hope everyone liked this chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

**EDITED:**

 **H** **as everyone read the 'new' chapter of D. Gray? Be still my beating heart.**

 **I'm back again, to quickly drop this in front of all of you.**

 **I don't own Harry Potter or D. Gray Man**

* * *

Harrick shifted in his bed, his eyes slowly cracking open. He gazed out the nearby window absentmindly, the moon capturing his sleepy thoughts.

"You shouldn't fight," Cross muttered. Harrick blinked, easing his body up so he could find his companion. Cross sat at the foot of the bed, staring down the immortal. A cigarette was clenched between his lips and a thick book rested on his lap. Not a single drop of alcohol was within sight. "You're only hurting yourself."

Harrick smirked, combing his wild hair back with a slightly shaking hand. He tried not to wince at the phantom pains of the Earl's stupid games. No need to worry the womanizer even more. "Can't. Part of my whole hero complex gig."

"At least don't go looking for trouble, Harrick," the General compromised, breathing out a stream of putrid smelling smoke.

Harrick scrunched up his nose, sliding his body out from under his covers without a word. Cross's eyes narrowed in annoyance at the lack of agreement. Still silent, the immortal placed his feet on the ground, pausing at the chill.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cross wondered, crossing his arms as Harrick tested his balance.

The immortal finally turned back to him. "How's the coat treating you?" he asked. "Does it need any mending? Are the stiches coming undone?" Harrick calmly approached the Exorcist. He looked the General over, reaching out to tug lightly on the explorer coat.

"What a stupid question," Cross noted. He didn't move as the immortal shuffled closer, his hand slipping under the coat. His fingers caressed the silvery insides, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

"Has there been any mistakes with the cloak? Any…glitches for lack of better word? Fading? Loose threads?" Harrick asked, frowning as he finally decided to just slip the coat off of Cross. The General barely moved to assist the action.

Harrick took a step back, eyeing the coat critically. Cross didn't bother lighting a candle to illuminate the room; the immortal could see just as well either way.

"It still works as well as it did when you first gave it to me," Cross informed the immortal, crossing his arms as he waited for his partner to cut to the chase. He knew the immortal too well to let their conversation derail so easily. Harrick flicked his green hellfire eyes to him for a moment before putting all of his attention on the coat.

His hands clenched, crumbling the fabric slightly as his thoughts deepened. "I am uncomfortable with the fact I cannot help you without sustaining debilitating injuries myself. I can't stand it when those I care about have to fight alone," he admitted, finally putting the coat down, satisfied with his assessment. "I feel like this is the only way I can keep you safe."

Cross scoffed. "Don't get bratty on me 'Oh-Powerful-Embodiment-of-Death'. _You_ are the only one that I can rely on in the midst of this shit storm. Neah's dead. Mana's dead. The Black Order is a disaster, a hair away from collapsing under its own hypocrisy. The Noah just want the world to burn. And don't get me started on the Crow and Central. _You_ , Harrick, you're trying, even if it leaves you bedridden for hours," he raised his eyebrows at his partner's bewildered stare. "Though, that's a shitty consequence for 'fixing a disruption in the balance of the ever teetering universe.'"

The immortal's breathing stuttered and Cross shot him a concerned glare. When Harrick only glanced to the side petulantly, the General waved him over with a growl.

Harrick took a cautious step forward with a vulnerable stare, prompting Cross to open his arms with a sigh. The immortal folded himself into the General's embrace, feeling an all-consuming warm of _life_ seep into his perpetually chilled skin. "Since when were you such a romantic, Marian?" he chuckled.

"Since my partner became an idiot. So, forever, it seems," Cross muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I'm so useless," Harrick stated. Cross started to argue, but the immortal spoke over him, continuing his tangent. "You're going to die anyway, why am I only delaying the inevitable. One day, you'll join the countless souls resting inside of me, and I'll be expected to continue living. Days go by, and I silently count down how much more time I have you. Marian…I don't want to be alone," the immortal admittedly, smooshing his face into the red head's shoulder, twisting his fingers into the man's white undershirt in desperation.

"Idiot," Cross snarled lightly, caressing the back of Harrick's head. "You'll have my stupid student and his ilk to watch over. No matter what, we won't leave you alone. Even when we die, we'll still be with you. Not that any of that will happen for a long time!" he barked. "I'm still as young as I used to be!"

Harrick chuckled, but refused to answer. He had no delusions. Fate screwed him over. No one would stay with him forever, no matter how much he wished it. He needed, _craved,_ human contact, but they lived such short lives. He almost wished he lost his bleeding heart as time passed him by, just so that he wouldn't suffer as his precious ones perished, like everyone else.

(Not that he hadn't tried to befriend the pseudo-immortals that plagued this world to ease his suffering. But, there was a reason both Harrick and the Millennium Earl had Stab-On-Sight orders concerning the other.)

"Why were you asking about the cloak?" Cross finally asked, tired of the depressing silence. There was only so much sorrow and subsequent comfort he could dish out.

"Allen's scar…" Harrick pulled back, pursing his lips as he thought over the curse. "I can feel a soul, that Mana you mentioned, on him. But, I _know_ he returned to me three years ago. I _feel_ him. And yet, a part of him lingers on my precious protégé."

"What does that mean?" Cross furrowed his visible eyebrow, trying to dredge up all those long forgotten lessons on souls he was forced to listen to.

"It means," Harrick started, detaching from the General. "that Mana accidently turned himself into an pseudo-horcrux that I am unable to cut away because _Allen has fully embraced the leach_."

"And…that's bad?" Cross tried to understand, watching as the immortal paced angrily.

" _Yes,_ it's bad!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. They quickly dropped as he made a tight spin to continue his pacing. "It's stunting his growing! And his mental state! At this rate, my poor student will be adorable and small forever!"

Cross raised an eyebrow, smirking at his partner's indignant flailing. "I still don't see the problem at hand."

"Of course you don't," Harrick muttered. "You're Mister Powerful Exorcist, bluh-bluh, consequences are for losers, bluh-bluh, I'm so cool, look at my fabulous hair as I whip it through the air like a bloody rag."

"Don't diss the hair, _Harry_ ," Cross replied, twirling a strand of his crimson hair around a gloved finger.

" _Mock my name again, Marian, see what happens. I dare you,"_ Harrick slipped, lips forming hisses instead of words. Cross gave him a blank stare. Harrick blinked before his face crunched in annoyance. "Not again…" he muttered. "Not only did I tell you my name in confidence, Marian, but I also don't appreciate that you feel a need to make fun of it. It is a truly fearsome name, a name of knights, princes, and kings! And immortals! It is a perfectly normal name! Your name is the weird one. The only reason you still believe in your biased god is because I _told_ you we have tea together every millennia. And yet-!" A large hand slapped itself none too gently over his mouth, muffling his rant.

"You wanted to give something to our stupid student," Cross prompted. When Harrick's only response was a glare, the General slowly pealed his hand off the other's face, straightening up to rest properly on the bed.

"As you know," Harrick hissed in English, drawing out his 's's in his anger. "I inherited three artifacts from the previous incarnation of Death." He reached into the wild mop that he cared hair, pulling out his transforming stick easily. "The Elder Wand." He waved his arm towards the explorer coat, causing it to levitate and fold itself inside out, revealing the silver underneath the black and gold. "The Cloak of Invisibility." Turning his attention to the man whose lap he was sitting on, Harrick let the coat fall to the floor. "And the Resurrection Stone." He finished, lifting his other hand to present a small onyx rock the tinkled darkly in the faint moonlight. "Each artifact relates to an aspect of Death and are not objects I give away lightly."

Cross raised an eyebrow when Harrick shot him a pointed glare. "I have taken good care of your precious 'Cloak of Invisibility'. I even learned how to sew. My fingers may never be the same." The immortal huffed in annoyance.

"If you _called_ for me, I would have fixed it for you," he reminded the General.

"And have you breathing down my neck for the next few months before I lost you? If I wasn't so sure you could hunt down my Idiot Apprentice, I would have ditched you after I retrieved the boy," Cross informed his partner. Harrick flopped his stomach onto the bed next to him, waiting to stop bouncing before responding.

"So sorry for crimping your style, Casanova. It's not like I worry about you or anything," he grumbled. Cross reached out and carded his fingers through the immortal's hair, drawing a sigh as tense shoulders eased.

"I won't apologize for pushing you away," Cross stated. "Nor do I swear not to do it again. But this is the longest we have spent together since we went our separate ways, and it's thanks to our stupid student. As much as I hate it, we need to focus on taking care of him, and put our _differences_ to the side."

"Well, well, well, look who's being the responsible adult. I thought _I_ was the oldest here," Harrick snarked, but sat up, kneeling on the bed next to his companion. "But, unfortunately for my sanity, you are right. Allen is our concern and our responsibility. I will teach him what he needs to survive your suicidal plans, and I will _keep_ him alive."

With that, Harrick shimmied his way off of the bed, strutting over to the door. Cross shook his head in exasperation, but merely lite another cigarette, a small flame glowing on the tip of his thumb. Taking a deep breath, the Exorcist calmly flipped open his book, his eye flickering as he searched for his page.

That man was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

* * *

Harrick half-expected Marian to follow him as he sneakily crept into Allen's room. The man might act like everything concerning the boy was a necessary burden, but he had been around the General long enough to know when he cares.

The fact a small waif like Allen wormed his way into Marian's heart made the immortal beam.

Much like the room he shared with Marian, Allen's room had a window that allowed the moonlight to illuminate the small space. The boy himself was deep sleep in his bed, his soft breathing filling the air. As Harrick watched, an occasional word would fall from Allen's lips. Or, rather, an occasional name.

Harrick mindfully ignored the sleepy mutters, carefully moving forward as the black stone glinted in his hand. Thankfully, Allen slept like a corpse, facing upwards with his hands resting carefully by his sides, leaving his curse scar open for Harrick to play with.

(The fact a _child_ slept more like the dead, still and tense, then the _embodiment of death itself_ is a thought Harrick will save for when Allen's sanity and health are not being threatened by his dead adopted father.)

Slowly, cautiously, Harrick lowered his hand, pushing the Resurrection Stone against the bright red pentagram. Allen's face scrunched up in pain, his eyelids flickering.

The immortal twitched his pointer finger, slinging a sleeping spell at the child, driving him deeper into his dreams.

"Come on, you bastard clown," Harrick muttered, putting more weight on the Stone, easing it into cursed skin. A low buzzing at the back of his skull had the Master of Death swearing, leaning forward to shove the Stone deeper in.

Sweat gathered on his forehead as he tried to embed an artifact of Death into the damaged soul of a living child to moderate the lingering impression of a spirit. Easy peazy.

Harrick grunted when the Stone finally sunk completely into Allen's cruse, integrating with his torn soul. He overbalanced, bonking his head on the bedpost. Swallowing back a curse-ridden, shouted tirade, he cracked an eye open to watch Allen's breathing ease and his muscles minutely relaxed.

It wasn't the best solution, but it did mark the child as _his_ , something no one could take away from him. Now that he had the Resurrection Stone, he was Harrick's responsibility.

And Harrick took care of what was his.

He ran his fingers through Allen's hair one more time before planting a soft kiss in the center of his forehead. Harrick sat up, sighed softly, and took slow steps back to distance himself from the sleeping child.

When Allen continued to breathe steadily, with no negative after effects of the procedure, Harrick turned his back, bee-lining for the door.

He froze in shock when the quiet night air was pierced by an unearthly shriek.

Forcibly spinning his body around, Harrick saw Allen arch off of his bed in agony, another scream ripping passed his throat as he clawed at his curse scar.

"Fuck."

* * *

 **Whoops.**

 **Okay, candles instead of lights. While electric lights were introduced about 1880, I would assume it'd take a while to get** _ **everywhere**_ **to have electric lights. So, some places will have lights and some will have gas candles. Simple as that.**

 **Harrick is emotional and all over the place and I just wanna give him a hug.**

 **So, this is really _one_ of the last, if not _the_ last, chapter to tell me your opinion on what Allen should call Harrick. I'm probably gonna go back and edit the other chapters soon, now that I'm thinking about it. Hm.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Dragonlily22 - Here ya go~**

 **Guest - Haha, no doubt. Unfortunately, Allen doesn't get to see the letter explode. Maybe another time :3**

 **anon - It's never too late! I can't promise I'll use Cenn, cause I'm still deciding, but everyone's opinions are taken into consideration.**

 **StrayCAT - Haha, thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far!**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone liked this chapter! Till next time.**


	6. Chapter 6

**EDITED:**

 **I needed a fluffy chapter, I have to be honest. It makes me feel better.**

 **I don't own D. Gray Man or Harry Potter.**

* * *

Harrick scrambled back to the bed as Allen's pained screams echoed through his head. He hesitated at the side, his hands fluttering around the child's withering form.

What was he supposed to do? What was he _supposed to do_? The Resurrection Stone shouldn't have hurt him! It should have _helped_ him!

Panic bleed away and Harrick grew _angry_.

How dare the Resurrection Stone, a component of his own power, hurt someone he claimed as his own? How dare his power rebel against him in such a manner? _How dare it harm a child?_

Allen's fingers broke the skin over his scar, rivers of blood flowing down his face, dying his pure hair and staining his pillow.

The immortal didn't hesitate again when he grabbed Allen's wrists, throwing his body on top of the small teenager.

"Hush," he soothed, using one hand to pin the boy's arms over his head and caging the child with his own body. "I'm right here, Precious Pupil."

Harrick wasn't sure Allen could hear his reassurances over the boy's own screams.

His student's wails continued as he blindly thrashed under the immortal, his legs frantically kicking out. Harrick sighed, but dropped his full weight on the boy, pinning him completely. Allen still twitched, his boney knees jabbing at Harrick's lower stomach, narrowly avoiding a far more delicate area.

"Dammit," Harrick hissed, pressing his lips against Allen's curse scar, trying use his energy to find out why his student was having such a negative reaction to the Stone. He tried to ignore the warmth that seeped into his mouth as his student's blood painted his lips.

When Allen nearly kneed his genitals for the nth time, the immortal mentally nudged at the power that shaped his physical form, allowing his body to ripple and transform, smoothing out as if a large page of sandpaper had run across his features.

Harrick, female in form, snarled when her student head-butted her in the chest. It seemed she couldn't win either way.

But, she couldn't sense anything wrong with the integration. If anything, the Stone was settling in with Allen's torn soul a lot better than the Master of Death had expected.

Allen whimpered into Harrick's collarbone, a breathy sob brushing against her skin. His struggles eased, reluctantly, as if he was too exhausted to continue.

Harrick twisted once Allen's blind attacks faltered, maneuvering onto her back and pulling her student onto her chest. Allen twitched, a voiceless whine pouring out of his mouth as he tried to push away from his mentor.

Harrick didn't allow it, pressing the child onto her chest with a firm hand, threading her fingers through his white hair.

"Hush, little one, I have you," she cooed, feeling Allen calm and ease against her breasts, large gasps of breath falling from his mouth as his body shuddered from the lingering pain. "I'm sorry, it'll all get better soon, I promise. Hush, now. Just let me hold you, okay? It won't hurt for much longer."

She stared up at the ceiling, trying not to let her annoyance seep into her voice as she calmed the child. She doubted he knew what was happening right now, too distracted by pain and sleep. She doubted he would let her hold him so closely if he was completely aware. And…that hurt a lot more then she expected.

But, her anger was not directed at the child, no. It was at her powers, which she might never fully understand, even after spending so long with them. Why did the Stone hurt Allen?

Harrick just needed a quiet minute to think about it.

"I thought you were going to help him," Cross said as he slipped into the room, his hands nonchalantly resting in his pockets as his heavy boots barely made a whisper against the wood floor. He acted as if he hadn't raced to his apprentice's room the second the screaming started, lurking outside the door as Harrick tried to calm their boy.

The immortal could see right through that uncaring façade.

"I hope you aren't implying I hurt him on purpose," Harrick hissed, glaring up at the womanizer. Cross quickly took in the scene, one hand slipping free of his pocket to run through his hair.

"Never," Cross swore, his red eye boring into Harrick's unearthly pair. "Your general, incomprehensible, fondness of children aside, you would never harm the brat. He has an annoying habit of burrowing his way into a person's heart, whether he's wanted or not."

Harrick did not miss Cross's fond look at their student, nor the gentle curl of his lips.

"At least you're admitting it," the immortal noted with a soft chuckle. She moved her fingers through Allen's hair, shifting the strands slightly so that she could see the curse scar. It was still a vivid red, but it no longer appeared to be inflamed or bleeding.

Cross didn't comment, choosing to edge closer to the pair instead, staring down at them with a single piercing eye.

"You're more than welcome to join us, you know," Harrick stated, arching a brow as she beckoned the runaway General with her free hand. Her waving hand flinched when she heard the scream of a soul as it was torn from her body, a familiar stabbing hollow ache replacing it as it fled the safety of her own encompassing soul. She gritted her teeth, hissing as her legs spammed. "Shit."

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I left you when you were in such pain?" Cross mused, his eye picking up on the pain expertly. Instead of commenting on it, he decided to grab a quilt from the end of the bed, draping it over the wincing immortal and her dozing student.

"A bad gentlemen indeed," she agreed with a soft smile, the faint squinting of her eyes the only lingering sign of her moment of pain.

Cross grunted and lifted the corner closet to Allen, pausing only to take off his boots before slipping onto the almost-too-small bed. He shifted close, manhandling the immortal so that she was on her side, facing the Exorcist with her delicate student sandwiched between the pair.

Harrick sighed, dropped her head forward, her head resting against the side of Cross's throat. He rested his arms around her, sneakily slipping his left arm under both Allen and Harrick to rest it beside its twin on her lower back. With a smirk, Cross pulled the immortal closer, forcing Allen to be stuck between Harrick's soft breasts and Cross's warm chest.

"I think," Harrick muttered, her lips brushing teasingly across Cross's skin as she spoke. "I think that the leach was more ingrained than I had originally expected. That, or every contaminate lurking within him tried to fight against the Stone all at once, as if it were a virus."

"Sleep," Cross grumbled into her hair. "Worry about that shit in the morning. The brat's not in pain anymore, so what does it matter?"

"But-!" Harrick tried, lifting her head in preparation to argue her case. Cross's right arm left her back and shoved her face back into his throat, her words muffled by his skin.

"No arguing," he snapped, patting her head twice before returning his hand to its original resting place. "You are still recovering from earlier and from _whatever_ _else_ has happened since then." Cross tried to sound threatening, as if he could stop Harrick if she really wanted to do something.

The immortal smiled. She appreciated the concern, no matter how unnecessary.

"Alright, Marian," she agreed. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

With a content sigh, Harrick relaxed, falling into a deep sleep easily.

Cross waited, watching his two companions sleep, hoping that his guarding presence would scare the nightmares away.

After an hour of steady breathing and silence, Cross closed his own eyes, finally allowing himself to join the other two in the dark abyss of slumber.

He could worry about them in the morning.

* * *

"Bastard Cross, what are you doing in my bed?" a sleepy voice growled, interrupting Harrick's surprisingly peaceful dream. She tried to force herself back into the warmth, where faceless smiles beamed at her through short red and long, bushy brown hair.

Unfortunately, reality was a cruel mistress to the Master of Death and her eyes snapped open when her bed mates moved.

The first thing Harrick saw was Allen, clumps of his white hair glued together by dried blood, on top of Marian, a ghastly scythe ready at hand. Marian was staring at the large weapon in bewilderment, obviously having no clue where their student had pulled it from.

As if Harrick would miss out on teaching Allen about creating his own pocket dimension to store his extra weapons. It was their third lesson together, right after a simple lecture on how pandas were far superior to any other animal. Except for owls and deer and dogs and wolves and weasels and otters and, well, the list went on for a while. Allen quickly learned not to argue, especially after revealing to his teacher that he was fond of dogs himself.

"My little waif, don't kill your father," Harrick mumbled, burying her face deeper into the blood spotted pillow to hide her amused grin.

"Fa-father?" they sputtered in union, aghast. They leapt apart, moving so quickly Harrick only saw a blur. After a moment of confusion, she found Marian flat against the wall furthest from the bed and Allen across the room from him, near the door.

Harrick sat up slowly, quietly chortling to herself. "You should see your faces right now," she snickered, rubbing her eyes to wipe away the Sandman's crusty leftovers.

"That day I call Master Cross _that,_ " Allen huffed. "Will be the same day I eat my left arm." Cross nodded firmly in agreement.

"I won't give up hope then," Harrick yawned. Bleary-eyed, she checked the window, where just a bare sliver of the sun could be seen. "It better not be as early as I think it is."

"Go back to sleep, Harrick," Cross ordered with a sigh. "You're obviously still tired."

Harrick blinked twice before yawning again. "Alright," she nodded in agreement. Instead of falling back into the warm embrace of the bed, she opened her arms beseechingly. "Bed time."

"I have work to do, Harrick," Cross grumbled.

The Master of Death blinked, but dismissed the runaway General, turning her stare to Allen. The exorcist in training faltered, looking between his two teachers.

"Damn brat," Cross groused. "Go to your mother, alright? 'Daddy' has work to do."

Harrick laughed to herself as, instead of joining her in sleep again, Allen launched himself at his Master, his scythe at the ready. Cross was prepared this time, however, and blocked with the side of Judgement.

"Be a good boy, you filthy brat!" Cross barked, trying to pistol-whip their student.

"Go to Hell!" Allen screeched, dodging the blow easily and using his lesser height to attack the Exorcist's legs.

Harrick smiled, watching her two precious people try to kill each other.

And she couldn't be happier with her life.

* * *

 **Now that I think about it, most of this story is just gonna be Family Fluff with a teaspoon of angst thrown in there. Okay, maybe a couple of pounds of angst, but who's really gonna argue, huh? I need Harrick, Allen, and Cross to be a family, no matter how dysfunctional.**

 **The scythe – there is no way in hell Harrick wouldn't teach Allen how to fight with his signature weapon before any others, for bragging rights to Cross and intimidation factors.**

 **Best animals – Harry's friends and family, of course.**

 **So, I've decided to go with a feminine term for Harrick. However, TwistedMind64 brought up a good point. I might still have Allen call Harrick a version of Mother, but Imma do some research on other cute titles that are more formal, in accordance with Allen's 'Mana Mask'. If anyone has any ideas, you're more than welcome to share!**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest (1) – I'm glad you think so! Yeah, Harrick's situation is going to motivate Allen's purpose a lot. On the other hand, when Allen learns that he's a Noah, Harrick's main enemy and another factor for his pain…yeah.**

 **Guest (2) – Haha, you guessed it exactly! All of the cuddles and Family Bonding Fluff!**

 **Pancake – I** _ **live**_ **for the cliffhangers. I'm just that evil. Haha, thank you! I** _ **am**_ **proud! Not even a year has gone by and I've almost written 160,000 words total. But, it's through the support and dedication of my readers that I've gotten so far. I can't thank all of you enough for being so helpful while I've been trying to figure out my own writing style. So, thank you! Haha, I nearly squealed when I found out that D. Gray Man was continuing. There's still so much I wanna know and Allen, oh Allen. Unfortunately, I don't think I left enough wiggle room to add the information from new chapter into this story, but I'll try to do so with my other D Gray Man stories. You're welcome and thank** _ **you**_ **for reading and reviewing my story!**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Hopefully, I'll update again soon.**

 **Next chapter: Even more Fluffy Family Bonding Time!**


	7. Chapter 7

**EDITED:**

 **I don't think you understand how long it took me to finally find an appropriate term for Allen to call Harrick. I mean, I wanted something cutesie, but I wanted Allen to stay in character as much as possible (though, that's kinda hard). So, I was just about to give up and go with Mam/Ma'am when I realized, hey, Harrick is** _ **DEATH**_ **. There has to be a name for death that would work. And there was. A lot of names. It was far more fun than it probably should have been.**

 **I don't own D Gray Man or Harry Potter.**

* * *

In the end, Harrick didn't go back to sleep.

There was too much to be done within the waking world for the immortal to waste her time on dreams.

Leaving her boys to fight out their excess energy, Harrick slipped from the bed, rolling her shoulders twice as she let her powers morph her form.

She stretched, reaching her arms up, feeling her insides twist and her muscles broaden as she swung her arms back down.

With a final yawn, Harrick shuffled out of Allen's bedroom. His boys were going to be hungry when they realize the 'mother' of the family was no longer lounging in bed.

He rubbed his eyes as he entered the kitchen, the shouting thankfully becoming fainter the more walls he put between him and the fight.

"Now, what to make," the immortal wondered, checking the kitchen for food. Each cabinet came up empty, not even a crumb to be found. "I could have sworn we had food yesterday."

Harrick stared at the cabinets blankly, not yet awake enough for problem solving.

"Screw it," he muttered, one hand raised to hold back the yawn that threatened to escape. He snapped the fingers of his free hand, the sound resonating through the room before food materialized on the counter.

Eyeing the length of goods before him, Harrick nodded firmly.

"In your face, Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," he snickered, gathering his newly created supplies.

He whistled to himself as he danced around the kitchen, whipping up a meal fit for an army. His boys really needed to eat more, Molly would be ashamed with how skinny they were.

Harrick's song died down when he heard the distant thumping die down, the apartment suddenly quiet except for the shifting of his clothing and the sizzling of meat.

"If you two succeeded in killing each other, I will be _very_ annoyed!" Harrick hollered, conjuring up three panda-shaped plates and chopsticks. He strategically set the table, maneuvering the chairs so everyone was the exact distance from one each other.

He didn't want another argument about how Allen was closer than Marian or how Marian wasn't far enough away. It stopped being amusing after his boys started throwing his perfectly good food around like animals.

Harrick picked up his humming as he carefully dished out the white rice, placing the pekking duck on top. Of course, he then gave Allen's plate an extra helping of garlic broccoli. He wanted his student to grow up big and strong after all.

The Master of Death paused, trying to think of what drinks to get, when his two boys finally arrived, warily peering in through the doorway.

"Harrick, you're not having an episode, are you?" Marian asked, inching into the room. As Harrick blinked in confusion, Allen darted into the kitchen, grabbing everyone's preferred drinks. "You do realize that it is eight in the morning."

The immortal huffed, offended. "I'll just give your plate to Allen then. I'm sure you can find some oatmeal if you look hard enough."

Marian's arms shot up, admitting defeat in a heartbeat. "You're the cook; I will bow to your wisdom."

Harrick narrowed his eyes playfully, watching with amusement as the General backed up to the table and sat down, his arms still in the air. "As you say," he sniffed imperiously.

Marian opened his mouth for a no doubt snarky response, only to fully register his meal.

"Is this your not-so-subtle way of saying you want to go to China?" he asked as Harrick plopped himself down, his chopstick poised to dig into his food. He hadn't had duck in _decades_.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the immortal argued, nibbling on a piece of meat. It was better than he expected, sweet and juicy.

"Why would you want to go to China, Lord Harrick?" Allen piped in, blinking curiously up at his mentor.

Harrick wondered how the adorable little waif was so bipolar. He was very amusing only a few hours ago. Hell, the boy was a miniature demon towards Marian, but practically angelic with the immortal.

"Why _wouldn't_ I want to go to China?" Harrick threw back at Allen. The boy's eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"You just want to see a panda," his partner muttered into his duck.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want to see a panda," the immortal snapped. "I dare you."

"Lord Harrick, what's so great about pandas?" Allen tried again.

Harrick froze.

"The sheer number of things wrong with that sentence," he whispered, horrified. His mind nearly broke trying to understand why someone wouldn't want to see a panda. It was practically blasphemous.

"Doesn't matter, seeing as we're not going to China," Marian announced, taking a sip from his large wine glass.

"No, silence Marian," Harrick reached out blindly, smooshing his hand into the General's face. "This is more important than your pointless posturing. We're going to China, you were already planning on it even before I arrived. Allen. Allen, pandas are adorable and everyone should love them. I thought we went over this earlier."

"But, Lord Harrick, I thought dogs-" the teenager tried to argue.

"And another thing!" he steam-rolled over his student's words. "I thought I said not to call me Lord Harrick? It's so boring! Repeat after me, 'Mo-ther', come on, you can do it."

"That seems very inappropriate, Lord Harrick," Allen reasoned. "You are one of my teachers and of titled nobility."

Harrick groaned, his head falling to slam against the table. Cross patted his head in sympathy, his large hand practically swallowing the smaller man's skull.

"I warned you," he said simply.

"You did," Harrick whined into the tabletop. After a moment of self-pity, he popped back up, Cross's hand falling down his spine to rest near his hips.

Neither man thought much off it, missing the thoughtful look Allen shot them.

"Just call him 'Fraulein'," the General advised, taking an absentminded sip of wine. "It gets the point across rather well."

Allen's face exploded with color, his bright scar very nearly blending in with the flood of red. Harrick's reaction wasn't as passive.

" _Call me that again and I'll break your wrist_ ," he hissed furiously. Marian might not understand the language, but the shape shifter's threatening grip on his wrist more than got the point across.

Not ready to let go, Cross leaned forward with a seductive grin. "You'd never hurt me, love."

Harrick's inhuman eyes twinkled maliciously. "Do you want to tesst me, _Marian_?" He leaned closer, a bare inch between their faces.

Marian's eyes darted downwards.

Allen coughed awkwardly.

Harrick huffed in disappointed as the General side-eyed his student. Both mentors calmly backed off as if nothing happened.

"Don't call me Fraulein," Harrick concluded. Marian chuckled and Allen nodded his head firmly. "Now, just call me something other than Lord."

"Master Harrick?" Allen tried.

"That's even worse!" the immortal cried, throwing his head onto the table, cushioned by his folded arms. "I'm far too old to be wearing leathers!" His words were slightly muffled by his sleeve.

"Call him Death," Cross suggested, flicking his hair sarcastically. "That should tickle both of your morbid funny bones."

"I think Master Cross should be banned from offering names," Allen concluded, offended. He was _not_ 'morbid'. Loving the Akuma was perfectly normal.

"No, no, Marian actually has a point this time," Harrick decided. He cheerfully ignored the morbid comment. He was literally _Death._ It really didn't get more morbid than that. "As Death, I have used many names. I'm sure we can use one of them for our purposes. And, since it's technically a title, there should be no issue with using it."

"I've always wanted to call you Satan," Marian added, sipping smoothly from his wine glass.

The immortal narrowed his eyes. "Marian is now banned from contributing to this conversation. Allen, are there any names you know or should I just start listing them?"

"I only know of Death and the Millennium Earl," the young exorcist-in-training shook his head.

"That won't do," Harrick noted, popping another piece of duck into his mouth. "I have been known as Macaria and Hel. Anubis was interesting. Mania was definitely a favorite. Mara, both of them. Tia and Ta'xet was harder but no less fun. Then there's also Veles, to name a few. What do you think, little waif?"

"I didn't realize you have lived so much, Lord Harrick," he muttered, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I don't think I can pick one myself.

"Alright, I choose then," Harrick pursed his lips, thinking it over. He really has lived a long time. But, each life has ended and even the supposedly immortal gods he lived with fell to Death. They rested within him now. If he wanted to, Harrick knew he could separate the strands of souls inside and comfort himself with a familiar face.

But, they deserve rest. He has no right – _no one_ has a right – to disturb the dead.

"I am fond of Mannan, my Celtic name" he allowed.

"You just want to be called Maman," Marian cackled quietly. Harrick glared at the buzzed man. He slammed his foot down, watching Marian's face twist as he crushed his delicate, manly little toes.

" _Don't ruin this for me, Marian_ ," Harrick hissed, annoyed with the Exorcist's constant interruptions.

Allen watched their exchange, his head bopping from side to side as he followed their quiet conversation. When the insults started to fly, the teenager spoke loudly enough to catch the 'mature adults' attention.

"Manon?" Allen attempted, testing out the name slowly.

Harrick blinked but hummed in acceptance as he turned away from Marian. "I like it."

"I thought it was Mannan," the runaway General argued.

"Mannan, Manon, Maman," Harrick waved his hand. "It's all the same, in the end. It's simply a name."

"Names are powerful," Allen declared, his silver eyes growing stormy with the shadows of a dark day long past.

Harrick canted his head, observing the boy he had taken into his heart. He looked into his eyes, noting the heartbreak and grief that oozed from his very soul.

"Yes," Harrick agreed. "Names are very powerful. And that is why only you and Marian will know the name written on my soul."

"Harrick!" Cross tried to reason, jumping up from his chair in outrage. "If the Earl were to ever hear it-!"

"Allen would never tell the Earl," Harrick countered smoothly, his stare never faltering from the teenager. "Don't you trust our student, Marian?"

The exorcist-in-training was tense, his eyes steely in preparation for rejection. Even after so long, after so many lessons and affection, Allen was still affected by his past. Unless Harrick did something right now, Allen might always be discreetly watching over his shoulder for betrayal. That would only hurt him in the future, when he finally joined that obnoxious order and Marian's plan came to fruition. The immortal would not allow something as trivial as his name damage his student further.

"I was born with the name Harry. Harry James Potter," Harrick announced. It was really rather anticlimactic. There wasn't any thunder or anything. He was a bit disappointed. At least when he told Marian it was in the middle of an Akuma massacre. Everything was a bit dramatic that day.

"Harry," Allen repeated, feeling the syllables fall from his lips. It flowed nicely, gliding off of his tongue with a strange power. His whole body tingled, his curse scar burning with a comfortable warmth. He couldn't hold in his responding gasp at the rush of feeling.

"Yes, that has been known to happen when my one true name is spoken," the Master of Death acknowledged, stare hawk-like on his student. "The effects should dissipate in a few minutes. Whenever you say my Name, I will hear you and I will come. Because the two of you are my heart and I refuse to allow that Fat Oaf or that obnoxious organization to harm either of you. But, remember this, Allen. Only someone who knows my one true name can kill me. That is why I have hundreds of names I will answer to. Never say my Name unless you are in danger."

Cross huffed, his glare turned off into the distance, trying to ignore the catastrophe of a meal. He really should have known a calm morning with Harrick and his Stupid Student was impossible. They just attracted trouble like a streetwalker attracted clients. "I don't know what I'm going to do with the two of you," he rumbled gruffly.

"Take us to China," Harrick suggested with an impish grin, shrugging as he let Allen go from his piercing stare. The boy relaxed with a large huff of breath, his eyes falling away from the immortal.

"I might as well," he growled. "You can't cause more trouble there than you have here."

"Don't doubt me, Marian," Harrick cooed. "It might tempt me to cause trouble just to spite you."

"Trust me, Harrick," Cross assured. He smirked, taking another sip of wine as his companions shared a glance. "I know exactly how strong your spite is."

* * *

 **There. Mannan/Manon/Maman is Allen's name of Harrick. It doesn't really all sound the same, but like Harrick said, it's a name and that's all that matters. (As long as Allen's not calling him _Lord_ , dear gods, he thought he left that behind with Wizarding England.)**

 **Fraulein means Miss, nowadays. However, in the 1800s, it was interpreted as "** **a "diminutive of woman" or "not-quite-a-woman". Most commonly used to refer to streetwalkers.**

 **Manannán** / **Manan is an Old Irish Sea god. He is also a guide for souls and connected to the 'Otherworld' and the veil between the worlds. He is seen as a trickster in the mythos. He is known to have a boat named Scuabtuinne/Wave Sweeper, a horse named Enbarr, a sword named Fragarach/The Answerer, and a** _ **cloak of invisibility.**_ **Manan is often shown as the role of a foster father in the Irish/Celtic mythology, raising a number of foster children, including Lugh, the Irish Hero, and the tragic Heroine Deirdre's children. He sounds awesome, really.**

 **Now, Harrick/Harry/Mannan/Manon (okay, this might get a bit confusing) has lived a** _ **long**_ **time. He has watched worlds burn and has hung out with countless other immortal beings. He is the one true Immortal, however. Nothing lasts longer than Death. He is eternal and forever. He knows he is only setting himself up for more hurt, but Harrick was born human and he cannot survive without interaction. It's a flaw of humanity, at least for an immortal being suffering forever without the promise of companionship…I'm just being mean to Harry, wow.**

 **Now, we're off to China for perfectly important and critical reasons. I swear, it's not just to have Harrick hug a panda…okay, that might be the main reason.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Pancake - They did~ I needed a fluffy chapter and it seemed like the perfect time to set up the relationships properly. Oh, how are those stories going along? Are you comfortable with telling me about them more, cause you've made me curious now? Yeah, FanFiction inspired me to major in Creative Writing. I currently am working on two original works myself, though I keep having writer's block, which is when I usually turn back to FF. Haha, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much though. I can't promise that you'll enjoy my other stories or that my writing will stay awesome, but I will try my best to live up to the expectations of those that have inspired me to continue writing. Thank you!**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


	8. Chapter 8

**I REALIZED I KEPT FORGETING TIMCAMPY AND HAD TO PUT UPDATING THIS ON HOLD AS I EDITED. As such, I might have edited the entire story? Like, some chapters are more edited than others (cough, Chapter 4, cough) but each chapter has at least one sentence added/rewritten. So, you don't need to go back and reread unless it's been so long you've forgotten most of it...sorry!**

 **I don't own D. Gray Man or Harry Potter.**

* * *

"While I never doubted your spite, Harrick," Cross started with a huffed out put-upon sigh. "I did not expect you to set a pack of pandas on us."

"A group of pandas is actually called an embarrassment," Harrick corrected, a wild smile on his face as he ran beside his two companions, leaping over logs and rocks with the grace of a doe fleeing a predator. He, conveniently, ignored the fact it was a single panda rampaging behind the trio. Really, Cross should know that pandas were typically loners.

"You're fucking with me, I know you are," Cross muttered, failing to replicate the immortal's effortless elegance. Timcampy weaved through the air above the trio, narrowly avoiding trees as he tried to keep up.

"No, it's true," Allen panted, pumping his arms at his sides as he kept pace with the taller adults. "Manon taught me that in during the Panda Lesson."

"Hell, I can _hear_ the capital letters in that," Cross stated, exasperated. "I didn't even know pandas _could_ rampage. They're fat and stupid, the clowns of the animal kingdom."

"The Earl is fat," Allen pointed out, huffing. "And he's clown."

"Did you just compare The Millennium Earl, the Master of Evil and Necromancy, to pandas?" Harrick cut in, bewildered. When the exorcist-in-training nodded hesitantly, the immortal scoffed. "That oaf could never compare to a panda."

"Makes a man wonder what Harrick would do if the Earl was a giant panda," Cross chuckled, his usual cigarette clenched protectively between his teeth as the end bounced with his sprint.

"Do not _joke_ ," Harrick frowned, his unearthly green eyes piercing the General.

"Why _are_ we being chased?" Cross wondered, keeping pace with his obviously insane companions.

"I wanted a baby panda," the Master of Death admitted, turning slightly. His movement revealed a sleeping black and white puff-ball cradled in his arms as he ran from the pissed off mother.

"You stole a baby panda?" Cross sputtered, his cigarette slipping to the ground, trampled underfoot as they continued to flee. How did they go from forest training to stealing mammals?

"He stole a baby panda," Allen confirmed, a confused frown tugging on his lips. He didn't actually know how they ended up in their current situation. Really, he thought Manon would reign in Cross, not drive them both further into his insanity.

"I stole a baby panda," Harrick repeated proudly.

"And you wonder why I spent five years hiding from you," the General snapped. They looked away from the immortal for _one minute_ and this shit happens. He fumbled, trying to slip a new cigarette between his lips as he ran for his life. Cross cursed when his entire carton of nicotine fell from his fingers, lost in the leaves and rampaging one-mother-stampede. Just another casualty to Harrick's insanity. Cross will mourn their passing once he wasn't being chased by the clowns of the bear family.

"I thought it was because I scared off your conquests," Harrick chuckled. The mother roared, her strong claws tearing through the landscape, leaving deep furrows in the hard ground. The immortal almost felt bad as the mother trampled over fledgling plants, cutting them down before they ever had the chance to grow.

"That too," Cross recognized, trying not to squeak as the panda's ghastly looking paws swiped at his heels. Screw the cute and cuddly stereotype, this panda was out for blood and Cross didn't think she would stop until she received her due. "Split up?" he suggested.

"Split up!" Harrick agreed, cackling as he swerved to the left, the baby still snug in his arms.

Of course, the mother ignored her other two prey, content with chasing after the clearly insane mischief maker that Cross called his partner in crime.

Allen hesitated, torn between resting his exhausted body and following his favorite mentor. There was really no choice in the matter. He refused to be stuck with Master Cross for longer than was necessary.

However, just when he took a deep breath in preparation to catch up with the fleeing immortal that he could still distantly hear cackling, Cross interrupted.

"Now that we have a moment, Stupid Student," he started, patting his pockets in search of another box of his much needed cigarettes. "We have some important shit to talk about."

"If you and Manon are getting married," Allen cut in. "I humbly accept your offer to be the ring bearer. It would be an honor."

"Not in a million years," Cross grumbled, flopping down on a large, but uncomfortable looking, rock. He didn't twitch as a panting golem colliding with his hat, his chubby little hands holding on in a death grip. "Congratulations on getting the subject of our conversation right, though, Idiot Apprentice." He paused to sigh, bracing himself slightly. "We need to talk about Harrick."

"Are we leaving already?" Allen asked, his voice shrinking. He was used to Cross bringing in 'old friends' and 'new friends', women that barely lasted a couple of days. The white-haired teen had hoped that, after nearly a month together, Manon and Cross would continue training him, side-by-side. They evened each other out nicely, so much so that Allen rarely had to slave a day away trying to earn money or catalog the best hiding places whenever they entered a new town. He felt safe and maybe a little happy.

He wasn't afraid, for the first time in _so long_.

"Unfortunately," Cross frowned, noticing the sorrow hovering over his student. "Harrick isn't going anywhere." Damn, at this rate, he was never going to escape Harrick again. The immortal had a nasty ability to worm his way into lives, uprooting careful plans, and unleashing chaos on the unsuspecting. It was what made him both a horrible ally and enemy. But, Allen seemed to like him.

Allen, the same kid that didn't deserve the fate laid out for him.

There was no way Cross could separate the two orphans without a really good reason. Not without having to deal with a nagging guilty conscious for weeks. He didn't need more regrets in his life. He already had more than alcohol alone could ever solve.

"But," he continued. "That's the problem."

Allen didn't ask another question, waiting for his Master to explain. The pained look in the older man's eyes stilled his immediate curiosity.

"Death isn't a title," the runaway General explained. "It is a state of being. Harrick is Death and nothing escapes death, not forever. But, the Earl takes that rule and tears it to pieces. When the fat oaf borrows a soul from Harrick, he rips it from his being. Each akuma created is like he is being stabbed. Returning a soul leaves him drowning in their regrets from their forced alliance under the Earl. No matter what we do, Harrick is in pain, suffering because of a war he cannot interfere with."

Allen was silent, his lips is a firm line.

"Harrick has his own vendetta against the Earl, of course. That fight in France was one of the very few times I have seen Harrick fight back. I do not know if it hurts him too much to fight or if he is usually too tired. Either way, Harrick isn't generally a fighter. And yet, the moment he meets you, little Allen Walker, Harrick decides _now_ is the time to get involved in a war centuries in the making. He is, no doubt, going to put himself through tremendous pain in an attempt to help us. Naturally, I would prefer if he didn't. Harrick is no good to me withering in agony because he got attached to a former circus brat," Cross concluded, a deathly glare leveled at his student. Allen was an element of a long-lasting plan, but Harrick would live past the boy and would hopefully play a part in Neah's convoluted design. He didn't need the immortal breaking himself over the boy.

"Then we just need to end the war quickly," Allen mused, a strange smile on his lips. It wasn't his rare happy smile or his common polite smile. It was positively serene. As if the answer was simple and Cross was stupid for thinking otherwise.

The General blinked, taking in the teenager before him. Sometimes, he forgot just how old the boy was. It felt like he was wearing the skin of someone younger, much like Harrick did, to seem more approachable.

Cross would not be surprised if there was some truth to that thought. Their student was creepy like that.

"Easier said than done, brat," Cross chuckled. "The Earl has his own allies, all more powerful than a mere akuma. You'll kill yourself saving humanity before you ever get a crack at them."

"Train me to save them all," Allen stated, the strange smile not wavering for a moment. "That's your duty as a master, isn't it? To teach me?"

Cross guffawed, tossing his head back as he unleashed loud laughs that shook his shoulders. Allen looked on, bewildered, as his master released his disbelief and amusement into the listening bamboo forest.

"What's so funny?" Harrick wondered as he popped down on Cross's knee, a hand resting on the exorcist's shoulder for balance. Strangely enough, his arms were empty of the cuddly baby panda and the enraged mother was nowhere to be seen or heard. Timcampy, dislodged from his comfortable spot on the General's hat, settled in the immortal's welcoming lap.

"Where are the pandas?" Allen asked, sitting down criss-cross-apple-sauce before his two masters.

Harrick rolled his eyes, but answered. "I returned Emelia to Bertha. I made her promise that I could visit, though. Make sure to check on her the next time you pass through, Allen."

The teen nodded immediately, not entirely sure what he was promising. Sometimes it was better to agree than to ask questions, especially with Harrick.

Cross's guffaws were slowly calming into chortles as he tried to regain his breath, no doubt slightly woozy.

"Now, might I know what was so funny, Marian? I do love a good joke, after all," Harrick tried, leaning into the General's side.

Allen was not surprised when Master Cross absentmindedly wrapped an arm around Harrick's middle, tugging him closer to make sure he did not fall off his knees.

Really, he wondered when the wedding would be.

"For a dirty circus brat, your student is really something else, Harrick," Cross admitted, a few stray chuckles muffled by the immortal's hair as the General's mask and red eye peeked out at the teen from over abyss black strands.

Harrick hummed, agreeing, as Allen's sharp grey eyes observed them, his stark red scar vibrant in their green surroundings.

"I want to go to Russia next," he decided.

"We've arrived in China four days ago," Cross pointed out with a put-upon sigh. He wasn't surprised, though. It had been unusual when Harrick hadn't complained about staying in France for so long. The Master of Death was a being of adventure, never settling down and always moving around. Flighty as a bird. "Why Russia?"

"Polar bears," Harrick said.

"Bears, bears, bears," Cross sighed. "When I met you, you were still fascinated by deer. And, _they_ were less likely to suddenly gain the urge to kill us. If I ever see a bear again, it would be too soon."

"So," Allen wondered, his eyes flicking between his two mentors. "Where will we be going next?"

"I have a contact in Guangzhou," Cross said, careful to look over Harrick's head as the man lounged languidly in his lap. "I might as well take the time to check in with her."

Harrick narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips slightly. He had settled his make-shift family in Sichuan, a viable hot-spot for pandas. It wasn't as if Guangzhou was a hop-skip-and-a-jump away. No, the district was nearly two thousand miles east. It could take a couple days before they made it to Cross's _contact._ Days that could be better spent searching for polar bears in Russia.

Or actually training Allen, now that Harrick thought about it.

"Allen, what do you think?" Harrick asked, turning to his watching student. "More wilderness survival, this time in Russia, or a train trip to see one of Marian's friends?"

Allen stared, an innocent little fox being watched by starved hounds. He thought about the biting cold he knew all too well and the burning in his lungs from running away. He thought of Master Cross's heavily perfumed friends and their shadowed brothels, smelling of sex, drugs, and alcohol.

"I've never been to Guangzhou?" the exorcist-in-training admitted after a moment.

"Never been to Russia either," Harrick pouted, crossing his arms petulantly.

"Majority rules," Cross noted, smirking down at his partner. "Hold on to your lily-white knickers, Harrick. We're going to a brothel."

"I fucking knew it."

* * *

"I can admit," Harrick sulked, sipping a hot cup of tea. "She is pretty."

"Are you alright, Manon?" Allen blinked, warily watching the growing black cloud over his mentors head.

"I'm fine, little waif," the immortal replied with a sigh. "I just forget that Marian is a two-timing, drunk waste of space with a libido the size of Russia."

Allen's genial smile twitched. He wasn't used to his mentor sounding like a brat who had his favorite toy stolen from him. It was disturbing, to say the least.

"Miss Anita seems nice," he tried, cautious. The brothel owner was beautiful and, much like Harrick, too good for his inept Master.

"Oh, Anita is an utter doll," Harrick agreed. "She told me all about the time Marian misplaced his silly little toy and spent a week ransacking the entire town looking for it. And how Marian once got on the wrong side of a stray dog. I had always wondered where that scar on his arse came from, but the story was even better than my imagination allowed."

Allen's smile faltered. He _did not_ need to know that about his idiotic Master. "What's wrong then?"

"I'm going to braid his bloody hair for ignoring me," Harrick stated, glaring over at Cross as he chuckled, whispering sweet nothings into Anita's ear across the room. "I'm _bored_."

Allen hummed, thinking. He didn't want to go Akuma hunting, not now when he knew what it did to his mentor. There wasn't space for wilderness survival in the busy city and Harrick was unlikely to start a lecture in a brothel where any customer could hear them. But, maybe…

"I don't know how to swim," Allen attempted, remembering the towering ships he saw in the distance on the way to Anita's brothel.

"Allen," Harrick stated, launching himself to his feet. "You're a genius. MARIAN!"

Cross cut himself off, snapping his head around to glare over at his partner and student. "What is it now?"

"I'm taking Allen with me for swimming lessons. I can't have him drowning on me, it's an unpleasant way to die," Harrick said, canting his hips and crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Do what you want," Cross rolled his eyes, turning back to his beau. Anita watched their exchange with sharp eyes, absorbing their interactions with ease.

Oh, yeah, Harrick liked her. How she got caught up in Marian's wiles, he might never understand (he still didn't know how he got caught, though).

"Take Mahoja with you," Anita added. "She will make sure you are not bothered. The people of Guangzhou know better than interfere with our business."

This woman was an absolute _darling._ He could never blame her for tugging at Cross's attention. Really, it was all Marian's fault. He was a lazy sod who wouldn't understand commitment if it shot him in the head with his own gun.

"Thank you for your help," Harrick bowed gracefully. "Come along, Allen. Let's leave Marian to his business."

Harrick smirked at Marian's responding wince, nodding at Anita as her coal black eyes twinkled in amusement.

"This way," the bald, muscled woman that welcomed them into the brothel stated, opening the door for the pair. "Will you be going to the pier or the river?"

"The river would be best," Harrick said, turning over his two options for a moment. "I don't want Allen crushed under a passing ship."

"Very well," Mahoja nodded, leading the two out the brothel and into the streets of Guangzhou. "This way then," she said, directing him away from the pier.

Harrick hummed, slipping his hand onto Allen's shoulder as the teen started to drift away, his curious feet trying to drag him towards his fascinating surroundings. The apologetic smile he shot up at the immortal caused him to chuckle.

He had to admit, Guangzhou was beautiful. Colorful and bright, the city was awe-inspiring. He could understand why Allen wanted to explore and investigate the magical city. He wondered if this was how Hagrid felt, leading little Harry around as his tiny eyes went round with amazement, trying to take in all he could see.

"I don't know if I'll be able to find you if you get lost, little stray," Harrick said. It was a lie, of course. With the Stone of Resurrection resting inside his soul, the boy's presence burned in the back of his mind. The exact opposite of Marian, who hid from Death simply by wearing his signature coat. Simply being around the man and his Cloak protected anyone from Harrick's eyes. Just as the Stone protected Allen from Harrick's very magic. Helpful little side-effects that only served to make the immortal's ever-life all the more complicated.

Allen edged closer to Harrick, pressing his shoulder into the immortal's side.

The sea of people bled away as Mahoja led them to the river, resting on the outer edge of the city. The few who remained paled in recognition of the muscled woman and swiftly went about their business, leaving the riverside barren in seconds. Harrick ignored their scurrying, taking in the river's black beauty instead. The dark water glinted under the light of the full moon and the lingering lantern light that shone from a distance.

Memories of similar dark waters, of drowning sailors as Mannan and of rescuing trapped treasures as Harry, seeped into Harrick's smile, staining it was a distant sadness.

Allen turned to Harrick, blinking in innocent curiosity, his mouth opening in question.

Harrick answered by planting his foot on the teen's bum and kicking him into the freezing water.

"Don't drown," he ordered as Allen plunged into the inky depths with a strangled shriek. He crossed his arms, watching the waters as Allen thrashed around, barely keeping his head up.

"Was that necessary, Lord Peverell?" Mahoja asked, her foot inching forward as Allen cursed like a displeased cat and sputtered in the river.

Harrick blinked. "It's how I learned to swim," he stated. "And how I taught Gaiar, Aebgreine, and Lugh to swim."

Clidna of the Fair Hair took over lessons for Niamh and Mongan after watching her patron and protector chuck three small children into waters that made hardened sailors think twice. Harrick, of course, found Clidna's lack of trust a bit insulting.

He really didn't see what was wrong with his method. He was watching Allen, so there was no way the white-haired teen was going to drown. Already, the boy was adjusting his movements, adapting to the weight of the waters.

Harrick likened it to a mother bird teaching her baby to fly. They flew or they fell, but the mother was always there to pick them up.

"You're getting the hang of it, little bird," the immortal cheered. Allen cursed, flipping through languages like Ron flipped through radio stations. He started to paddle awkwardly to shore. "See, it's all fine."

Mahoja shifted uneasily.

Harrick continued smiling, his fingers shaking slightly. ( _He was too close to the Fat Oaf's main base. He could hear the screaming as souls begged Death to drag them back, to hold them in its embrace once again. How could no one else hear the broken record of sobs and pleas and screams that played over and over, a symphony that the Earl hummed along to?)_

Allen scrambled up the rocky edges to fall, shivering and exhausted, at the immortal's feet.

"I'll need to teach you the Requiem," Harrick mused, clasping his hands together. The shaking ease, suppressed with the practice of millennia of existence.

"Requiem?" Allen hissed between chattering teeth, tilting his head to stare up at his _nicer_ teacher.

Harrick sighed, crouching down to whip a thick blanket around the cold child. He rubbed the boy's sides, encouraging his blood to pump and warm him up.

Mahoja, professionally, didn't question where the blanket came from.

"You swam well," Harrick said instead. "I'm proud of you." Allen would need more lessons, more opportunities to swim before he was good enough for Harrick to trust him alone.

It would take years before Harrick could teach his newest student the Requiem. Before that, he needed to tear apart his obnoxious gentleman mask, piece by sticky piece.

* * *

 **My writing might not be top-notch, but I do so love my research.**

 **I think…Imma do a small time skip next chapter. Just a year or so, nothing too big. While recreating 'Round the World in Eighty Days' might be fun with Harrick, Cross, and Allen, there wouldn't really be a point to it.**

 **Gaiar, Aebgreine, and Lugh** **are the children Mannan fostered and raised. They are more hints at Harrick's past before the D. Gray Man world. While Harry lived countless lives, through previous incarnations of the world, he has never had any children of his own. He is physically unable to have kids. So, everyone he has raised are adopted or fostered. If there are any 'past lives' that canonically have children, they are adopted/fostered or Imma ignore their existence. Such is why Niamh and Mongan are now adopted children and Clidna is a, well, priestess of Mannan for better word.**

 **(Harry is looking for bears because sometimes he needs to be reminded of the friends that died so long ago. Bears, terriers, bunnies, foxes, otters, deer; Harry needs some reminder to keep himself grounded, to keep Harry Potter inside of Harrick, instead of blurring into the terrifying insanity that is Death.)**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

**So, I'm studying abroad in for a few months. I'll make a conscious effort to keep on track (attempting one update per story a month.** **Does that sound fair to everyone?) but Imma mainly be spending my time in classes or, ya know, exploring Europe. Not that you guys aren't used to my lazy updating by now though...**

 **Ah, okay. So…some body horror? I mean, it's not bad, really, but fair warning and all that. Admittedly, D. Gray-Man is basically just body horror coated in religious allusions and friendship speeches, so it shouldn't be _too_ surprising. **

**I don't own Harry Potter or D. Gray-Man.**

* * *

"What's wrong with my name?" Allen asked.

Harrick paused, his fingers threaded through his student's white hair. He frowned at the crown of the boy-soldier's head, tugging on a lock, calling for attention.

Allen tilted his head back, meeting his mentor's eyes.

"What do you mean?" Harrick countered, shifting so he could keep Allen's stare and continue decorating his hair in small braids.

"You…" Allen frowned, repeating his words in his own head before letting them touch the air. He almost wished Master Cross was here, instead of out in the town, clearing out the akuma for Harrick's comfort. Master Cross, for all of his deliberate assholery, understood Harrick far better than Allen, even after a year of being the immortal's student. "You've called me nameless. You hesitate before you say my name. What's wrong with it, Manon?"

Harrick hummed, starting to understand. He weaved another small braid, moving onto another strand and separating it into three sections. "It's not _yours._ Allen Walker is a title you wear, a blanket term you smother yourself in. Until you have accepted _Allen_ , you cannot truly have a name. An identity is all well and good, but you need to internalize it, it serves no purpose printed skin-deep."

"Like how Harrick and Manon and all of those other names you said are not your ' _one true name'_?" Allen tried to compare. Harrick pursed his lip, shaking his head.

"No, every name I have, I internalize. Death is all-consuming, with thousands of different names all leading to the same conclusion. This body, this host, is Harry. I cannot be Harry while still being Death. Harry is a single being, an individual. Death is all and nothing. I am Harrick and Manon and Hel and Lady **Peverell**. You, however, are not me. I cannot yet say you are Allen Walker, though. But, it is the title you branded yourself with, so I try to use it when I can."

"Am I broken, then?" Allen wondered.

Harrick hummed, thinking it over. He finished off the braid before he responded, moving around his student so they were face-to-face.

"Look at me with your cursed eye," he ordered. Allen faltered, confused.

"My curse only reacts to akuma," he told the immortal.

Harrick patted Allen's head, making sure to reign back the amused twist to his lips and settling on his neutral lecturing look. "Close your eyes. Now, imagine an eight sided die. If possible, center it on your scar."

It took a moment, Allen's eyes scrunched together and his forehead creased, but he nodded, having the desired image in mind. Harrick took that time to mentally mark mediation to his list of lesson topics. He would have thought Marian had taught Allen in their three previous years of apprenticeship before he arrived. It just goes to show how useless the other man was without him.

"Turn it, however many times you want," Harrick continued, Allen's lips tightening as he struggled to keep the image. It took longer, by a good fifteen minutes at Harrick's count, when he knew his student succeeded. Allen's curse formed, his pupil pinpointing as a blazing red target zipped into focus. As if his left eye had opened involuntarily, the exorcist-in-training's right eye snapped opened two seconds late.

Allen froze, both of his eyes locked on his second – and undeniably favorite – teacher.

It was… as haunting as an akuma's soul. Instead of too little, scattered pieces of a torn soul, Harrick had _too many._

His skin, a dull gold of a fading tan, was moving, as if something underneath was squirming in search of an exit. Periodically, his skin burst in a flash of blacked blood, an eye peering out through a roiling mesh of colors. His own eyes were a blazing, searing, mind-numbing green at odds with the blurred features of his face. Allen looked away, down, in search of something less nauseating, something reminiscent of his kind teacher.

The immortal's hands flashed, bone knuckle clicking together before flesh and tendons and muscle oozed on, first a woman's hands, then a man's, then a rotting corpse, before gleaming bone was revealed again. Once, in the cycle of decay and rebirth, Harrick's left pointer finger burst in a flash of blackened energy, a muffled crack leaving a broken phalange to suffer through the regeneration. After the tenth cycle, the bone was forcibly shoved back into place with Harrick's other hand. It was ghostly, an after-image – Allen held his breath, seeing that Harrick's right hand never moved, an extra limb having split from the elbow.

"You can use that technique whenever you suspect your curse is not reacting properly," Harrick said serenely.

"What is that?" Allen asked, awed and horrified. Harrick hummed, fixing another finger, the lacerations easing themselves closed as he rolled his shoulders. New ones replaced them a moment later. The third hand caressed each finger, intently waiting for the next break.

"My body is all about perception," Harrick stated. "I can manipulate it, but I'm still Death beneath it all. I would never call it an illusion, however, as it is solid. The body you are used to seeing is as real as this one. My true form is simply what shows my true power and pain."

"Has," Allen bit his lip, looking away when Harrick's arm snapped back, twisted in a way that forced the teenager to think of malleable rubber toys instead of steady bone. The immortal's jaw clicking together harshly and he worried for his teacher's teeth. Harrick took five deep breathes and righted his broken arm on the fourth. Allen cleared his throat. "Has Master ever seen this?"

Harrick smiled at his student ruefully. "I think Marian would wrap me in cotton if he saw physical evidence. For all of his genius, he needs to see something, to feel it, before he can fully comprehend it."

(Maybe, that was why Marian could willing train a child to step in line with an organization like the Black Order? For all of his knowledge, Marian was a grown man when he became a 'precious' Accommodator, fully grown and developed. Allen was a boy, a _child.)_

"You can, of course, tell him if you want," Harrick added. "I'm sure if you practice mediation, you could even show him this form or that of an akuma's soul. I did not teach you this so you would keep it a secret."

"Then, why?" Allen frowned, determined to look his otherworldly teacher in his hellish eyes, demanding an explanation. Master Cross made Manon's pain seem like a secret, something to quietly protect him from. Yet, Manon stripped away that naïve notion, baring the evidence as if he were teaching a simple lesson on anatomy.

"Once upon a time," Harrick started, diving deep into the memories of Harry James Potter for the lesson of the day. "A man told me that, for the greater good of humanity, I had to die. As Death, for the greater good of the balance of the universe, I bear the pain of the Millennium Earl's twisted necromancy. Allen." Harrick caught and held his student's mismatched eye, serious as the day he willingly marched to his death. "It is everyone's fate to die. It is no one's _job_ to die, no matter what the Order might eventually teach you. Life is precious, a fact the Earl constantly forgets. Do not, under any circumstances, accept death as the only solution."

"Rather," Harrick continued, pressing two ghostly hands against his stomach as it split open, fingers and lips and bloodshot eyes cresting the breach. With absentminded patience, he pushed them back down, hands gentle and coxing. "Rather, accept life. Protect it. Cherish it. Too many exorcists are holding their breath for their last battle, that final peace promised to them. It will come, with time. Don't force the hands of fate forward unnecessarily."

"Is that what happened to you, Manon?" Allen pushed, pressing into the opportunity like the circus brat with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Perhaps, that was not true anymore. Perhaps.

Harrick thought of a green light, of a forest full of memories and monsters, of a man who broke himself over and over again until he rejected himself as readily as humanity did. Of a boy raised to be a slaughtered, dying before he even took that final step.

"No," Harrick denied, a litany half-lost repeated by ghosts long dead echoing on his tongue, held back only by the boy with a storm for eyes. "I died exactly when I was supposed to. I wasn't the one who rushed." No, he was simply the one who suffered because of the deviations. He was the one who forgot to cherish his life before it bled away.

It all didn't make much sense, to Allen. He muttered his assent, however. Sometimes it was better to agree than to ask questions, with Harrick.

Tired, Harrick took a breath, the imprint of a hand pressing up against his wrist, a soul too restless for his comforting embrace. He would have to think about reincarnation for that one. "To extinguish your curse, you must let go of the die. If it is still spinning, stopping will also work."

Allen watched Harrick, the new weight added to his shoulder even heavier than the one that dissipated while braiding his hair. He was…melancholy. Much like Allen himself was when thinking of Mana.

Being Death, Allen wondered how many people Harrick cared about, only to see them die as he kept moving forward. Were Master Cross and Allen the first he risked his heart with? Or did he have as many scars inside as he had wounds outside?

"Master should be back soon," Allen stated, all too happy to return to seeing his second mentor's usual body, uninjured and comfortingly human. "I can make dinner. You should rest."

Harrick furrowed his brows, finally focusing on the present. "I don't remember teaching you how to cook."

"You didn't," Allen confirmed. "Mana did." Well, Mana tried to. Allen had to teach himself after Mana had forgotten during the first time. It wasn't always edible, not in the beginning, but Allen learned quickly. He had to.

Harrick huffed. "You're not," he added, standing straight. "Broken, I mean."

Allen, still sitting, looked up at his mentor, confused.

"The Earl is broken, the Order is broken. No, _Allen_ , if anything, you're simply…well worn."

* * *

 **I'm done. Time to think about my actions and find a way to make it up to Harry next chapter (and you guys, for having it be so short. But, I really couldn't add anything after that. It didn't seem right at all. Upside, you're assured another update next month instead of having it up in the air.)**

 **Alternate name: HARRY'S EXISTENCE IS STILL REALLY SHITTY. THOUGHT YOU OUGHT TO KNOW.**

 **(He also really sucks at the whole not being an individual thing. He gets attached way too easily, ya just gotta smile at him and you have fucking _Death_ in your corner)**

 **THE THIRD/FOURTH HAND IS NOT HARRY'S MAGIC. Arguably, Harry can manipulate his body to the degree of multiple limbs, i.e. the Hindu God of Death Yama and such. His 'true body' doesn't exactly work on a physically plane. Especially when he's wearing an 'illusion'/'mortal shell'. As such, the easiest way to fix his supernatural injuries is to use 'spiritual' limbs. That was his 'soul's' arm…if that makes sense….**

 **So I was rereading this story to get motivation and I realized it kinda sounded like I was shitting on people who change their birth names. So I decided to clarify a bit more while shitting on Harry. Cause that's basically all I ever do.**

 **Ah, it's usually not so bad for Harry? I mean, it's still really shitty, but Cross is out and about killing akuma close by, so Harry is experiencing that. Usually it's just the lacerations and the broken fingers, minor stuff.**

 **Now, we've got another year to go through before Allen leaves for the Order. It'll probably go a lot quicker, since I have most of the set up I wanted.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Nightfreak8823 – Haha, thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it! Sorry for the delay in updating!**

 **Guest – Of course! Ah, thank you! Okay, so, right now Allen is fourteen. From chapter one to last chapter, he was about thirteen and he goes to the Order when he's fifteen.**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


	10. Chapter 10

**I can totally do this once a month thing. _Totally. (oh no, its all falling apart)_**

 **I don't own D. Gray Man or Harry Potter.**

* * *

"No, Allen," Harrick said. He stirred the pot, squinting down at the clumpy contents. (Maybe…trying to make chili by memory alone was not his best idea…) Harrick dismissed his doubt and poured more beans, mixing it together. "We're not getting a pet."

"A dog could help out while travelling or we can train it to scent akuma!" Allen tried to argue. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, anxiously twisting his fingers together as he attempted to make his case.

"Or, the dog will get shot by a blood bullet and we'll cry. Allen, I have a horrid crying face. No one wants to see that." Harrick shot a smile over his shoulder, to his partner who lounged in his high-back chair sipping wine. "Right, Marian?"

Cross raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely hideous. Snotty."

Allen narrowed his eyes. "Why do you know how Manon looks crying?" He mimicked Harrick's signature stance; his hands planted on his hips, his legs a shoulder width apart, his chest puffed out, and his shoulders pushed back.

Every time Harrick pulled out that move, men cowered and bowed to his whim.

Cross tried not be overly amused by his stupid student attempting to imitate his partner – or rather, his partner's female form. It was almost cute. "Why do you want a dog?" he countered.

Allen deflated, his stare slashing to the side to fixate on the ground. "I asked you first."

Harrick tapped the pot twice, spelling a stasis charm, before turning to his boys. "It doesn't matter who asked what, Allen. _I_ want to know why."

Allen tucked his hands behind his back again, slouching slightly as he stared at the ground. Harrick took him in, canting his head in thought.

"Are you lonely, Allen?"

Allen startled, quick to shake his head negative. How could he be _lonely?_ Harrick was always around, even when Master Cross went out. It was getting to the point where Allen wondered if Harrick's entire world revolved around his two companions.

(For an immortal, _for Death_ , Allen wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. Allen's world revolved around his two teachers and Mana, after all.)

"Look me in the eye and deny it again," Harrick challenged, his voice dropping to an almost dangerous tone. One Allen was not familiar with but it raised his hackles enough that his eyes latched onto Harrick's unearthly pair immediately. "Are you lonely?"

"No," Allen denied.

Harrick hummed, but seemed to accept that as fact as he returned to his pot. "Then why do you want a dog?"

"I…like dogs."

Cross scoffed. "You have Tim, you don't need something as dirty as a dog." He dodged a wood spoon.

"I like dogs too, Allen, but you need to think about this long term," Harrick said conjuring up another spoon to stir the chili. "You'll be leaving for that Black Order in less than a year. Do you really think Marian will take care of your pet in your absence?"

"You could take care of it, Manon," Allen said, eyeing the new spoon hesitantly. "Or I could bring it with me."

"I believe in a more…free roaming type of ownership. Giving me responsibility of an animal is asking for it to go missing." Harrick shook his head with a small secretive smile. "The Black Order is hardly a place for a child, let alone a dog."

"The Finders are still alive, aren't they," Marian commented. "There's an idea. Get a pet Finder; train it, raise it, care for it. Problem solved."

"Not solved," Harrick denied immediately. "Those Finders have enough problems without setting Allen on them. They are tragic, broken players with their desire for vengeance twisted against them in the name of a war they were victims of."

"Testy today," Cross noted, slouching back in his chair to eye his partner. It wasn't _concern_. He was simply _wary_ of Harrick's moods. They always led to some unplanned adventure and usually ended in injuries – or tears.

"Let's compromise," Harrick decided, moving the pot off the stove to cool before serving. He rolled his wrists and hunched slightly, feeling the change roll over him. It was rougher than his usual transitions, but he rarely allowed himself the treat of shedding the skin of humanity for a simpler form.

In his place, a large black dog sat – styled after a Caucasian mountain dog instead of Sirius' grim. Harrick was self-destructive, maybe, but he respected his godfather's individuality and the precious meaning behind the canine form. Harrick took the quiet moment of Allen and Cross gaping in union to shake out his limb and test out a step forward. It was awkward, clumsy, but he adjusted fast enough.

"I don't prefer these forms," Harrick admitted, his jaw and tongue twisting uncomfortably under his magic. "But this is as close as we can get to owning a dog."

Cross pointed and boomed out a deep laugh.

Harrick huffed as Allen buried his head in his hands to muffle his own cackle.

The things he did for his boys.

* * *

Harrick didn't change back for well over a month.

He still roomed with Cross, either curled up at the foot of the bed in a tight ball or pressed up against Cross's side when the other man started twitching from a nightmare.

He still cooked, relying on his magic more than his natural skill to feed his boys. It wasn't as good, but better than trying to enlist Cross. Allen stepped up to the plate occasionally, siting nostalgia for _Before_. Harrick let it be for now, the taint of the leach suppressed by the Stone and growing fainter with each day.

He still taught Allen, dipping deeper into magics – wards, runes, minor healing potions – and non-magical disguises. He dug into those old card shark skills Marian cultivated before he arrived and sent Allen out with a single name for a hands-on lesson. One day he was little lordling, Henry Bridgeton. Then he was street rat Kettle. Maid Alice. Apprentice Phillip.

Allen hoarded the skills, like a dragon jealously protecting his treasure. Harrick wanted to cut down those who scarred Allen's heart.

It was so so dangerous.

He held his boys up to the sun and watched them shine, forgetting how soft his heart was each time. Harrick forgot how quickly he loved. How his loyalty was a steadfast thing, stronger than his spirit – but he couldn't be Harry James Potter first. He had to put the souls resting within him before the little boy who loved too easily.

Harrick was amused, because he wasn't neutral. He lost that neutrality years ago, when he met a flame-haired man but he delusioned himself. It took a boy with a familiar tragedy wrapped around his throat to break that last strand of ignorance.

He made a _terrible_ incarnation of Death.

He was too human, even after all these _eons_ of existence.

"Manon." Allen ran a hand along Harrick's flank, calling his attention from his ruminations. "Are you happy?"

"I have my two favorite people at my side," Harrick responded, his head resting on Marian's lap. "How could I possibly be sad?"

Marian didn't look away from the paper when he flicked Harrick's furry forehead. "That's not an answer."

Harrick was suitably amused. "I almost feel ganged up on."

"You deserve it," Marian proclaimed, his hand transitioning to pet Harrick's skull, smoothing out the fur. "You're worse than Allen at ignoring your emotions."

Allen let out a token protest that none of them believed for a second.

Harrick huffed a laugh. "Well, I suppose I am happy, then. I am with the people I love. Is that not a requisite to happiness?"

His two boys _froze_. Harrick lifted his doggy head, taking in the sheer shock and confusion on Allen's face as well as the blatant horror on Marian's. He shook his head and barked out another laugh, louder this time.

"Amateurs," he scoffed.

"You can't just _say_ that, Manon!" Allen finally forced out, his hands curled in his hair.

"Can't I?" Harrick hummed, shifting onto his side and nudging at Marian's stilled fingers. The best part about being an animal, a dog especially, is that no one hesitated to touch a well-groomed dog. He didn't think he had gotten as many snuggle hugs from Allen in the last _year_ as he had in these five weeks. "Seems like I just did."

Marian choked on something. Probably his own repressed emotions. That, or his over-inflated ego. It was usually a bit of a toss-up.

"No, you really _can't_ ," Allen tried to impress on Harrick to no avail.

"I still haven't heard either of you say it back," Harrick pointed out.

Allen flew into a complete tizzy, moaning into his hands as he tried to tug out his hair. Now, that just wouldn't do. Harrick whacked him with his tail.

Marian choked again, sputtering as he physically griped his heart like Harrick was about to send him into cardiac arrest with his abundance of _emotions._

"I'm surrounded by children," Harrick realized. Emotionally repressed, walled off, children. He stood, shaking off any remnants of fatigue and flopped onto Marian's lap with the grace of a breaching whale. "I love you, Marian," he cooed, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he stared up at the General. "I love you."

Marian's horrorstruck face was totally worth every second of mockery this would no doubt incite. He looked even better than that time Harrick whacked him in the face with a fish. He wished he had a camera.

A pensive would just have to do.

Coughing out a laugh, Harrick rolled off Marian's lap and straight on top of Allen where he was seated on the floor. The boy squawked under Harrick's impressive weight but stilled completely when he nudged his cold snout to that damnable cursed pentagram.

"I love you, Allen," Harrick said. "I love you."

Harrick didn't say anything more as Allen ducked his head, pressing his face tight against Harrick's thick fur.

He didn't say anything when Allen's fingers twisted and tugged at his fur either, or the wet spot he felt growing with each muffled cry.

What was he going to do with these two?

* * *

"Figures Manon would say it first," Allen taunted the next day, the redness around his eyes finally faded. He waited in his seat at the table, a deck of cards spread out before him as he shuffled and placed them repeatedly.

Harrick, finally shedding his canine form for something with proper vocal cords and opposable thumbs, raised an eyebrow from the stove.

Marian took a sip of wine. "Harrick suffers from his own stupidity. He's oddly proud of his delusions."

Allen scoffed, "I guess only someone delusional could claim to love you."

Before Marian could attack that opening – though Harrick doubted the man would utilize it to its full potential seeing as he had long since gone soft on their student – Harrick cut in, waving his wooden spoon like a wand and magically setting the table. "Actually, Marian said it first."

"What?" Allen and Marian said in unison, bewildered and confused. Harrick loved these moments.

He hummed in thought, reaching for that not-so-distant memory as he finished up breakfast and set up to serve it. "That time in Turkey…" he led.

"I was drugged!" Marian argued immediately, incensed.

"Still counts," Harrick chirped. "Now, what was it you said? 'Love you, don't leave me'? Or wasn't it –"

"Brat! Out!"

"But I haven't had breakfast!"

"Out!"

Harrick leaned back, basking in the chaos as Marian tried to physically throw their student out of the hostel room before the immortal could divulge all his embarrassing secrets.

Their little trickster of a student would, no doubt, use it as blackmail.

Yeah, Harrick loved moments like these.

* * *

 **In a** _ **totally bizarre**_ **turn of events, I can't let myself – or Harrick – have anything nice without making it painful. A fluffy 'I love you' ends with Allen crying.**

 **This went through so many rewrites, like wtf. I finally settled for something fluffy cause why not.**

 ***shrug* I usually like the silent 'i love you's, but I felt like no one really said it to Allen, so I needed to fix that. Immediately.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest (1) - That would, of course, have to wait until Allen actually has control of the Ark. There are possibilities, but Harrick would probably only agree as a last resort and even then only if he knows Allen would be alright against the Order or the Noah without him. Cross and Allen are literally the only two people Harrick cares about right now. Unless Cross got injured by, say, Apocryphos, and needed Harrick to watch over him in a secure location so he could heal...well, Harrick would just have to prioritize which of his two boys needed him more, no? A nap or two probably wouldn't hurt though, I can agree with that.**

 **Guest (2) - Thank you!**

 **Thefriendyouhate - Well, you didn't have to wait long~ (I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far!)**

 **I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11

***squints* the hell did I just write.**

 **I don't own D. Gray Man or Harry Potter**

* * *

Allen tried not the fidget. The tension in their little apartment was palpable, his two mentors glaring each other down. The fifteen-year-old wasn't sure what was going on – the two had already been deeply locked in a staring contest when he had sat down for breakfast.

A breakfast that consisted of a half-full glass of water and a napkin. There wasn't even a plate yet, as the set of three were cracking dangerously under Harrick's inhuman grip.

Allen hunkered down, praying for invisibility.

"He needs to know," Harrick finally said, breaking the silence. His smile was paper thin and as tense as his fists. "He'll meet them eventually."

"The Bookmen are stationed at the Order," Cross argued, arms crossed as he stared down the smaller man. "They can fill him in if and when he meets them."

"If you had your way, Marian, Allen would barely know how to tie a bow." Harrick pried his fingers from the plates, placing them on the table to match Cross's pose.

"I guess that's why he has you, doesn't he?" Cross shot back, his smile loose in a way his body was not. Allen tried to make himself as small as he could without actually hiding under the table.

The struggle of living with two mercurial mentors.

"He has _both of us_ and it's time you started _acting like it_ ," Harrick demanded, leaning forward with the flash of teeth as if wanting nothing more than to take a bite out of Cross's throat.

"He knows how to invoke his Innocence and how to fight, how to work his curse; where did I fail in my duties? Isn't that why you kept me around?"

Allen seriously contemplated the merits of throwing himself out the window and spending the day swindling fools at a bar. Maybe buy Master some wine and Harrick a new knife?

"This isn't about _you_ , Marian." Harrick slashed his hand downward, cutting through that defensive argument like the bullshit it was. Even Allen knew Cross taught him more than that, for all he was a selfish satanic alcoholic bastard. "This is about Allen and keeping him safe. Keeping him alive. We both know the Order won't waste a single thought on him."

"In this case, Harrick, him knowing is more likely to get him into trouble than out of it," Cross stated, his volume dropping to a more civil level. Allen tried not to think about his Master's ego or how Harrick was both masterful at managing and manipulating it.

As long as he never said it out loud, though, he was probably safe.

"Do you think I haven't noticed, Marian?" Harrick let his arms drop to his slides, looking suddenly exhausted. "The Oaf's family is nearly whole again. He's making more akuma than ever. I can feel it." Harrick rested a hand over his heart, fingers curled in as if he wanted nothing more than to claw it out.

Allen let the change happen quietly, Harrick's body shifting as his left eye pinpointed. He shook it off immediately and tried to shake away the image of fingers – too many to have come from one person – scrabbling at a small hole oozing shadows.

It was getting harder and harder to feel any disgust at the sight of akuma souls when he merely had to look at his protective teacher to see unimaginable horrors.

"He's stepping up his game," Harrick continued. "He's taking risks and setting up his little play. I might not know what you want from him, but I know it'll send the Oaf after Allen one way or another. And I want him to walk away from this nonsense at the end."

"Knowing about the Noah won't save him, Harrick," Cross tried to reason, his expression having noticeably softened. "It won't change anything, when or where he learns it."

"Then it should be from _us_ , people he knows he can trust," Harrick concluded. Allen didn't like how Cross didn't say anything to that.

Allen measured their tempers and decided now was the perfect time to butt in before they managed to rile themselves up again. He did not like how Harrick's expression was threatening Cross's evisceration following his silence. "Who are the Noah?"

"No one important," Cross remarked.

"The natural enemies of Marian's Order," Harrick said at the same time.

"Harrick."

"Shush, Marian, before you choke on your foot – it's so far up your ass already," Harrick snapped, not bothering to even look at his partner. He, instead, canted his head, taking in Allen's slightly defensive position but curious expression. "The Noah are led by the Millennium Earl and are considered his family. Think of them as a sub-species of human, if you want to get technical."

"Sub-species of human?"

Harrick hummed, reclining in his usual chair like a throne as he thought it over. "Much like everyone has the potential to use magic, everyone has the potential to be a Noah. It's in the genes – and possibly connected, seeing as spells utilizing Dark Matter are some of the strongest mortals can harness. Most of the time, a Noah's ascension is random. And each Noah has a specific ability associated with their title. Some are very creative with their power, while some are helplessly boring. The Oaf, thankfully, is the only one of the family who can create akuma, but each Noah can _control_ akuma. Remember that, if nothing else, Allen."

"Akuma are controlled by the Noah," Allen repeated. Harrick pinned him with his inhuman eyes, but seemed satisfied that he would remember.

"While Noah can look perfectly human if they so wish, their true forms have grey skin, golden eyes, and a crown of stigmata," Harrick continued. "They are naturally repulsed by Innocence and humans, their life goal being some sort of peaceful heaven."

"Presumably," Cross cut in, his frown severe enough to cause wrinkles. "For the sake of a return to Eden."

"Eden?" Allen asked, confused.

Harrick knocked his heel against Cross's shin. "You did do Bible studies with him, didn't you? You cannot possibly be that irresponsible."

"I had Mother teach him all that." Cross slapped away Harrick's foot and sat beside him at the head of the small table.

"That woman deserves sainthood, dealing with you," Harrick mused, tapping the wooden surface.

"Why does the Millennium Earl want the Garden of Eden?" Allen clarified.

"Why does he want anything?" Cross wondered, leaning back on two legs of his chair to stare at the ceiling. "He's immortal and powerful."

"He wants what he can't have, I suppose," Harrick said. "Humans have always had that fault. And Adam shared so many similarities with his wife."

"If she was still around, Eve would have stopped this before it got out of hand," Cross claimed, still not sitting like an actual mature adult.

"Presumptuous. But not even I know what happened to Eve," Harrick reminded his partner.

"You have a few ideas."

Harrick smiled, his lips thin and his eyes tired.

Allen raised his gloved hand, his head spinning as he tried to keep up. Harrick and Cross quieted, if only because Harrick casually smacked a hand over Cross's mouth.

"The Millennium Earl is Adam – the first man. But the family is named after Noah, of Noah's Ark. Eve is missing and Adam wants to return to the Garden of Eden." Allen laid out the facts, seeing if there was any logic left to be found.

Harrick gave him a small smile of sympathy. "I am not actually sure where the other Noah come from either. I can guess they were Adam and Eve's first children and the rest of humanity are simply their descendants. I would have to ask the Oaf for a straight answer and he has been steadily becoming more and more unstable over the last millennia – not that he was _stable_ to begin with. And in these past fifty years he has been particularly alarming in his insanity."

"They used to meet up for tea," Cross explained, his arms crossed.

"He was particularly good at checkers before he lost what little was left of his mental facilities," Harrick defended himself, faced with Allen's horrified look.

"And Lustol was a poker god," Cross recited. He rolled his eye at Allen with a perturbed frown. "He's tried the same argument before, as if he doesn't have a kill-on-sight order from the Clown himself."

"What?" Allen slapped his Innocence-imbued hand on the table with a loud bang. Harrick and Cross blink at him, the immortal surprised and the General amused. "What do you mean a kill-on-sight order? Manon, what did you do?"

"I didn't –" Harrick tried with a pout.

Cross cut through with a shit-eating grin. "He called the Clown a pathetic child knocking over towers to get the attention of Daddy and making a bigger mess when no one came to calm down his temper tantrum because he was a waste of brain matter that never learned in his millennia of existence how to grow up. And then blew up his mansion. Twice."

At Allen's stare, Harrick shrugged. "That was before he started destroying akuma the moment he caught whiff of my presence. It was almost worth watching him prove my point."

Allen pinched his eyes closed. He really had no desire to tell either of his mentors that they weren't all that mature themselves.

That one day Harrick magicked Cross's hair pink was more than enough for his already damaged sanity.

"Is there anything else I need to know about the Noah?" Allen asked. Someone had to be the adult in the family – he wasn't going to get maturity from Harrick or Cross tonight.

Harrick thought the question over, tapping his pointer finger against his chin as Cross watched on, an eyebrow raised in his typical amusement.

Allen could count on one hand the number of times he had not seen Cross amused – and all but once, Harrick was at the center of the trouble.

Allen had better be invited to the wedding or he wanted a refund on the two years he has had to sit round while his guardians blatantly flirted – _badly_.

"Seeing as I can't get close without the Oaf being a _brat_ , I don't actually know the identities of the current or even the previous iterations. There was a strange hitch fifty years ago and again thirty, but that only tells us that the Oaf is faltering. There have never been more than thirteen Noah – not counting the duplicates of course. A Noah like Bondom more closely resembles a split soul than two separate beings –" At Allen's questioning look, Harrick waved his hand dismissively but explained with no complaint. He was Allen's teacher, after all. "Terribly complicated process that ends in severe mental instability and explosive mood swings more often than not. Bondom _started_ as a split soul, however, like twins, and got to skip the teetering insanity and obsessive desperation."

Allen could almost feel his teacher's disgust and hatred under his nonchalant words. It was staggering for a being Allen had only ever really seen as a laid-back, if mischievous, observer. "Have you ever met a split soul, Manon?"

"A couple times." Harrick didn't offer anything else. Allen cleared his throat and had to turn away from the burning anger in Harrick's unearthly green eyes.

Allen turned his stare to the ground, hunching his shoulders. The simmering anger and rage and infinitesimal _heartbreak_ that flared around Harrick like a centralized bonfire eased.

"They were known as something else, back then," Harrick relented. "But no less a blemish on the sacred pristine of souls. There is no greater depravity than a soul intentionally split."

Cross didn't say a word.

"I suppose," the immortal continued, thoughtful in a quiet, achingly painful way. "I can understand…the desire not to be so alone."

Allen didn't think about the years Harrick must have spent alone. He didn't think the number of times he must have been Allen, heartbroken and cracked, sitting at that gravestone and _wishing_.

Allen didn't wonder if Harrick ever tried to bring them back, if he ever decided the pain of a soul being stolen would be worth the balm of a familiar, friendly face after eons of watching everyone age and leave him behind for a place he could never travel to himself.

(Allen knew he would have. He _hated_ the Earl, wanted him to stop _twisting_ grief and sorrow into something _disgusting_. But, he hated the crushing loneliness of _Before Mana_ more. Those years of Red and distrust.)

Allen didn't ask his immortal teacher if he befriended gods and pseudo-gods like the Earl because they stuck around for just a little bit longer than humans. He didn't ask if Harrick was hurt, lost, devastated when the Earl cut off their tentative friendship and left Harrick floundering and in pain.

He already knew the answer. Harrick's love was just border-lining _suffocating_ , after all.

Cross dropped a hand on Harrick's crown, rolling his head. Allen couldn't stifle his smile at Harrick bewildered blink. "Good thing you had your fall out with the Clown. It would be a pain to have to fight you and your out-of-your-ass powers."

Harrick scoffed, that flirtatious smile Allen was more than familiar with replacing his ageless sorrow. "Is that your way of saying I'm stronger than you, Marian?"

Cross barked out a laugh, going so far as to throw his head back like an _asshole_. "I can take you anywhere, anytime, Harrick."

Harrick leaned towards his partner in crime, his eye half-lidded. "Here and now, old man."

Allen threw his arms up in the air. What did he say? Maturity – _nonexistent._

"With the brat watching? My, Harrick, what kind of man do you take me for?"

Harrick cut an unearthly stare over to his _utterly unimpressed_ student. "Allen, don't you still need to practice your illusions? Go swindle some unfortunate fools and treat yourself. We'll be a while."

Allen allowed it, standing up to leave and properly absorb all of the information Harrick saw fit to drop on him first thing in the morning. Two years of Harrick's nonsensical lessons, thankfully, taught him to pay attention at all times – enough that the lecture didn't throw him as much as it might have when he first met the immortal. Those were some harrowing first few months.

He didn't even want to get into the time Harrick lectured him on human reproduction over his plate of eggs.

"Don't wait up," Allen called. A giggle and the crash of chairs being knocked over was his only response. Allen slammed the door for good measure. "Like bloody teenagers, the both of them."

* * *

… **they are actually fighting, btw. Like, that building is so not gonna be there when Allen gets back. They're gonna have to move countries again. This is why Allen, Harrick, and Cross are banned from the entirety of Belgium.**

 **Btw, does my Noah Family explanation even make sense? I don't know. I gave up around the time I first name dropped Eve.**

 **Imma call this chapter – Information Dump Before Allen Messes Everything Up. Yeah, Allen leaves for the Order next. I dropped my original plan of Harrick, Cross, and Allen going to a ball where the Noah are, cause, it was way too…idunno, over the top? And unrealistic within the parameters that I have set to expect Cross or Harrick or Allen not to shoot/stab one of them for funnsies.**

 **Also, in a completely unsurprising turn of events, I got dark again. I remember when this was a funny story. In my defense, I cant have an immortal story without a shit-ton of mortality issues. It just doesn't work. For me.**

 **Guest Reviews:**

 **Guest - Haha, thank you! Will do!**

 **Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!**


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